


The Cult of Fen'Harel

by WizardofOzymandias



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Crack Treated Seriously, Established Relationship, Eventual Happy Ending, F/F, F/M, Post-Trespasser, tevinter nights spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:33:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 61,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25673638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WizardofOzymandias/pseuds/WizardofOzymandias
Summary: Petty revenge. That’s all it was supposed to be. Harmless, petty revenge. Little did Ellana, Dorian, and Sera know that leaving prank offerings at the altars of Fen’Harel would attract the attention of everyone in Thedas. Before long, their joke has inspired Orlesian fashion trends, a wave of Chantry scholarship, and a Dalish fertility cult. There was no cohesive plan involved. Just a series of lucky coincidences and a healthy dose of spite, and suddenly former-Inquisitor Lavellan has Solas at his wits’ end.Currently on hiatus (10/30)
Relationships: Background Briala/Merrill (Dragon Age), Background Sera/Dagna (Dragon Age), Female Inquisitor/Solas (Dragon Age), Fen'Harel | Solas/Female Lavellan
Comments: 61
Kudos: 63





	1. An Offering to the Dread Wolf

_“Recently discovered evidence in the Dales indicates that a new cult has arisen among the Dalish elves, dedicated to the trickster god Fen’Harel, who is commonly referred to as the Dread Wolf. The cult’s nature and origins remain a mystery for the time being, but it is believed that they have begun to worship Fen’Harel as a fertility god, due to crudely painted phallic imagery found upon many of the altars to the heathen god. In addition, the cult always leaves an offering consisting of a cup of tea and some curious, hard cakes. It is believed the tea is a symbolic warning to pilgrims that they must stay alert to avoid the wiles of the Dread Wolf, whereas the cakes are metaphorically meant to break the teeth of the evil god, thus subduing him to keep watch over Dalish fertility rites.”_

_— The Cult of Fen’Harel,_ Brother Ferdinand Genitivi, rumored to have been written by pseudo-Genitivi, rather than the man himself

It was Dorian who initially suggested the pilgrimage to Ellana. Weeks after the Exalted Council, Inquisitor Lavellan was still struggling painfully with losing Solas again and with the revelation of his mad plan to tear down the Veil.

“I feel helpless,” Ellana told Dorian. “Solas hid all of this from me, and now he’s putting everything in place to destroy the world, but I don’t know the first thing about stopping him. And—I’m still sad about losing him, even though I know I shouldn’t be.”

Dorian put his arm around her shoulders. “Of course you’re hurting, my dear. Anyone would be. But it’s no time to give up the fight. I’ll tell you what: before I go back to Tevinter for good, let’s do something fun. Maybe it will help you feel better.”

That was how Ellana, Sera, and Dorian had wound up in the Exalted Plains, visiting the altar to Fen’Harel that the Inquisition had discovered in the Crow Fens.

Ellana held a cup of tea in her hands. She looked over her shoulder at Dorian. “This still feels wrong,” she told him. “My Keeper would die if she knew about this.”

“Put your culture’s misconceptions about Fen’Harel behind you,” Dorian advised. “It’s just Solas, and he’s been an arrogant prick. The tea is a stroke of genius.”

Ellana set the cup of tea on the altar, then piled three of Sera’s specially baked, rock-hard cookies beside it. “An offering to the Dread Wolf,” Ellana intoned in her best Dalish First voice. “May Fen’Harel be appeased.” She gave a one-fingered salute to the little stone wolf on the altar. Dorian was right, this was cathartic.

Ellana turned around and almost fell off the raised altar when she noticed that Sera, who had been conspicuously quiet the whole time, had graffitied a series of penises on the steps leading to the altar. “Good way to wreck his elfy shite, innit? There’s folks as don’t have a place to sleep, and the arsehole has altars? Piss on that!” Sera said proudly. It was the first good laugh Ellana had had since before the Exalted Council.

The “pilgrimage” lasted three weeks. Ellana had fought hard to persuade her healers that she was well enough to travel and she meant to make the most of the time she had. So the trio sought out every known altar to the Dread Wolf in the Dales. Sera’s graffiti became a traditional part of each offering, with Ellana smothering her instinct to protest that they were violating her culture’s sacred sites. After Solas, any ancient sites left a bad taste in her mouth, and she was reluctant to regard anything as sacred anymore. Ellana could still feel the ache of the Anchor where her left arm used to be, a painful reminder of Solas’s betrayal. So instead of hiding herself away, crying about everything she had been through, she left tea and cookies on Fen’Harel’s altars and let Sera cover the hallowed ground with dicks.

Once all of the altars had been decorated, the pilgrims returned to Skyhold, likely for the last time. Now that the Inquisition was no more, their base would be little more than a museum. Ellana was reluctant to return there, as it had been the scene of too many partings already. At dinner that night, Dorian asked her about her plans for the future.

“Where will you go now, Ellana? Leliana is making plans and setting traps to lure in our clever enemy and his allies, but where do you fit in?”

She smiled shakily. “I’m going to Kirkwall for a while. Varric insisted that I see the house he’s given me and Leliana thinks it’s one of the safest places I could be. There’s also the upside of me being close to the College of Enchanters in Starkhaven. I almost hope I will uncover some sort of secret magic that will allow me to stop Solas—” she faltered on the name and hated herself for it—“without bloodshed.”

“One always hopes for better than is likely,” Dorian said wryly.

Sera, whose mouth had been previously occupied with a massive turkey leg, interjected, “Great, more magical shite. Don’t you elves ever learn that that’s what causes the mess? Stop messing about with demons, put an arrow between his eyes, and the world can go back to normal is what I say.” 

“It’s unlikely such a powerful mage can be defeated without magic,” Dorian scolded. Sera pulled a face at him.

“Leliana has granted me an indefinite leave of absence from my public duties. Now that the Inquisition is gone, she seems to think my research is more important than me making appearances or turning down marriage proposals.”

“But what is life without being nagged at to marry someone unsuitable?” Dorian teased.

Sera cackled. “Who’d’ve thought I’d be the respectable married lady? Always thought it’d ruin things to be married. But after the— _everything_ we fought, gotta do what you want while you can, right? And—being married isn’t all stupid respectable shite. It’s fun, too.” 

“You have been incredibly lucky in love, my friend,” Dorian said. “All the best to you and your bride.”

“Hear, hear!” Sera said, lifting her tankard. 

“I still haven’t convinced some people that I’m not secretly in love with Cullen,” Ellana admitted.

“Curly?” Dorian shook his head. “You could do better. At least get someone with a title if you’re going to make a flashy political alliance.”

Ellana made a face. “I thought I said I was _avoiding_ that.”

“You could always change your mind, my dear. If you get tired of your dusty library here, I’m certain there’s a nobleman with a comparable one.”

“Only if it has a copy of _Defeating Ancient Elven Gods Without Bashing Their Heads In or Destroying the World in the Process_.”

Dorian chuckled. “I’ll bear that in mind.” He kissed her forehead as he rose from the table. “Best of luck with your research, Ellana. I will send you all of my findings from Tevinter. Try not to get into too much trouble without me.”

Ellana stood and hugged him tightly. “You’d better use that crystal often,” she insisted, tugging at the communication crystal he had given her, which hung on a chain around her neck.

Sera stood, too. “The Red Jennies’ll be around. Always a note away, remember? Me and widdle have lots of bees ready when you find Solas. _Lots_.” She left with a wave and a grin.

When Ellana woke the next morning, the last of the Inquisition had gone. She was now all but alone at Skyhold. The place felt like a cave, empty, echoing with the memories of generations. The fortress was far too quiet, and it hurt to see her friends’ places sitting empty. She had done herself a favor already and had Solas’s desk moved from the rotunda. She couldn’t bear to think of it gathering dust, regardless of whether or not she was there to see it. The frescoes remained uncovered, as Ellana felt it would be a crime to cover them, regardless of the painful hitch in her breathing and the tightness in her stomach every time she saw them. She had gotten used to them during Solas’s previous two year absence, but now the sight of them stabbed painfully at her gut again. It would do her good to get away from here.

There was one more thing she needed to do before she left that afternoon. She walked into the Undercroft as she had done every day for the past few weeks, with the exception of her time on the pilgrimage.

“Good morning, Inquisitor!” Dagna said brightly. “How’s the arm? Are you ready for your last set of adjustments?”

“Good morning, Dagna. The arm is wonderful. Thank you for all of your hard work.”

Dagna waved away the thanks. “It’s the least I can do. You saved the world, after all. And besides, I’m always excited for a challenge.”

Ellana had returned to Skyhold after the Exalted Council with her left arm amputated above the elbow where the Anchor had been removed. While most of her friends were still treating her like she was made of glass, Dagna had come in and taken dozens of precise measurements of Ellana’s arm and gotten to work. Two weeks of almost no sleep later, Dagna had fitted Ellana with an incredible ironbark prosthetic arm. While the Dalish were the only craftsmen known for using ironbark, Dagna was not one for giving up easily on a tricky material. She had been convinced ironbark was the best material for what she needed, so she brought in several Dalish craftsmasters to advise her on the process, and the result was an unprecedented masterwork.

The arm fastened with a harness that could be worn over or under Ellana’s clothing. The fingers of the wooden hand were fully jointed and able to grasp objects. The core of the prosthetic was a central shaft, molded to cup Ellana’s stump, which served as the actual arm. Over that, Dagna had fitted a beautiful shield that filled out the arm’s shape. It also served to protect the shaft of the arm from impact. This plate was covered with carved designs, fine as lacework, and inlaid with a series of lyrium runes.

Dagna had been particularly proud of the runes. “See, Inquisitor, you could even cast through your arm instead of your staff! Although. . .I guess your arm could explode if you miscast. . .Never mind that idea! Either way, the runes will help boost your mana.”

Ellana had broken down and cried at her friend’s beautiful work and generosity. The new arm had provided a significant amount of relief from the constant pain in her left arm. It was nice to be able to use her left hand for things again, as well. And over time, Dagna had produced even more prosthetics, including a particularly ingenious grappling hook arm.

Now that Ellana was leaving Skyhold, Dagna had insisted on one last session to make any adjustments Ellana might still need.

“I never asked,” Ellana said, “why did you choose ironbark for the arm?”

Dagna grinned. “I’ve heard a few people accuse me of picking it just because you’re Dalish. The truth is that ironbark is just as good as metal, but also more flexible. It’s lighter and has some give to it. And it’s a self-oiling wood, so—unlike a metal prosthetic—you won’t have to worry about oiling your joints!”

Dagna double-checked the tightness of the wooden screws she had made for Ellana’s prosthetic fingers. “Are you sure that’s alright?”

“It feels perfect, Dagna. Thank you, again, for everything you’ve done.”

“It’s not as pretty as the Anchor was, but hopefully it won’t try to kill you.”

Ellana let out one of her now-scarce laughs. “What will you do now, Dagna? Especially with Sera gone.”

“I still have some things to finish here, and then I’m going to join my wife.” Dagna beamed. “It feels so good to say that: my _wife_.”

Ellana smiled. “I’m happy for the two of you.”

Dagna hesitated, then said, “Be careful, Ellana. I thought Corypheus was the worst thing we’d ever fight, but Solas scares me worse than anything. It’s different fighting someone you thought was a friend. I think the only hope we have is if he still loves you.”

“He does. But I’m not sure it will stop him.”

“Hey, I’m rooting for you. If anyone can talk—or knock—some sense into him, it’ll be you.”

That afternoon, Ellana gathered the rest of her belongings and climbed into the first of several wagons that would take her on the long journey to Kirkwall.

* * *

Solas had expected assassins, armies, agents of the Inquisition, anything except—

“You said tea? And burnt cookies?” he asked Abelas, the former Sentinel of Mythal, who now served as the general of the Dread Wolf’s forces.

“Yes, my lord,” Abelas confirmed. “They were left as offerings on the altar to Fen’Harel. I have contacted other agents across the Dales and they have reported similar sightings.”

“Bizarre, but not unexpected, I suppose. There will undoubtedly be many Dalish who have heard of the rise of Fen’Harel. An increase in offerings would be natural, considering how fearful the Dalish are of the Dread Wolf.”

“I’m not sure you understand, sir. The offerings were not all. There were also some . . . paintings.”

Solas cocked an eyebrow. “What sort of paintings?”

“Phalluses, sir. Someone has painted enormous phalluses around the altars.”

Solas was surprised at how angry he felt. It was such a petty, childish thing for anyone to have done. “Tea, inedible cookies, and phalluses. Someone is taunting me.”

“Can there be any doubt as to whom? Certainly it must be Inquisitor Lavellan.”

“Perhaps. But I had not expected her attacks to be so clumsy. Defacing ancient sites of Dalish worship will accomplish nothing except frightening or offending her own people.”

“What do you intend to do, my lord?”

“Nothing.” Solas returned his focus to the maps laid out on his desk. “The rain will likely wash away most of the damage.”

“You will make no effort to stop her?”

“If this is her best plan of attack, her opposition is doomed.” Solas dismissed Abelas with a wave of his hand.

When he was perfectly honest with himself—which was rarely enough—Solas had to admit that he was unsure how to deal with Lavellan. Until the day nearly two months earlier when he had removed the Anchor, he had been content to remain in the shadows and pretend Ellana never existed. He had at least been able to conceal his relationship with her from most of his forces. But not Abelas. His general had seen him at Lavellan’s side and that had been enough to convince Abelas that Solas was hopelessly in love. Still, it hadn’t mattered much until this development. There was no doubt that Ellana was the one who had left the sacrilegious offerings. And, from the choice of imagery in the “artwork,” Sera had likely helped her. It baffled him to think that this childish behavior had thus far been their only response to his plans. But it was a response—one that felt like a challenge. And Abelas was unlikely to keep quiet now that Ellana was acting against their plan. Solas could see many careful conversations about why he did not plan to kill Lavellan yet in his future.

Until this point, Ellana had been a distant threat. Now that she was openly taunting him, Solas wondered if he would be able to continue ignoring her. It still hurt to think of her. The time at Skyhold was two years in the past, but Ellana’s memory was still too vivid. And Abelas had some uncanny sense about all of it. Solas had been pleased when the chief guardian of Mythal’s temple had joined his forces, but he feared he would have to threaten Abelas if his general did not stop pestering him about dealing with Lavellan.

It was not that Solas was unaware of the fact that Lavellan was going to die. It was only that—just as he had told her a few weeks prior—he preferred that she die in comfort, as a result of his tearing down the Veil. He did not want to end her personally. If only she would choose to lay low and stay out of his way. But he knew Ellana, and she had never been good at laying low. If there was a commotion to be made, she would make it. And it seemed she was doing so, which meant that Abelas only had more reasons to bother him. Solas thought longingly of his thousand years spent in _uthenera_. There were no such headaches to be found deep in the Fade.

At least his forces had found a safe place to settle. The main base, where Solas himself remained hidden when he wasn’t traveling, was inside Arlathan Forest in Tevinter. It was an ancient elven stronghold—one that was far enough from the destruction that lay deep in the forest to be considered safe, but also far enough inside to be sheltered from prying eyes. The place had been a wreck when he led his forces there, but by now the walls were shored up, at least. There were still places where rained poured through the roof and the occasional sinkhole would open up in the floors, but most people had beds. They had also managed to amass a respectable collection of ancient tomes salvaged by the agents, and the library was suitably safe from the elements. 

The Arlathan Forest was enormous: a great green jewel at the easternmost edge of the Tevinter Empire. The trees there had outlasted centuries, fanning out in a thick emerald canopy that was taller than a castle’s ramparts and allowed almost no light to pass through. Only those with preternatural vision could pass there without fearing the risk of dying in the dark. Solas knew, as few people did, why the forest was considered haunted. The blackened ruins of Arlathan that lay at the heart of the wood sang with enough red lyrium to drive any mortal mad if they drew too close. It was true, as well, that the nearer one ventured to the ruins, the more twisted and uncanny the plants and wildlife grew. The expeditions that Tevinter had sent inside had been damned from the moment they set foot in the dark reaches under the ancient trees. There were things inside Arlathan Forest that no man could name, darker and more deadly than the terrors that haunted the worst nightmares of the dreamers.

Solas returned his attention to the stack of reports on his desk. So far, his plans were progressing easily. Each of the accounts he read brought good news: this location secured, this artifact acquired, more recruits everywhere his forces went. The elves Solas had at first mistaken for apathetic had in fact been poised waiting to strike at their oppressors. And all that energy was surprisingly easy to channel. The words “restoring the lost city of Arlathan” had wildly different meanings to his recruits, but Solas had no intention of setting the record straight. Let them believe what they liked, as long as their efforts furthered his work. And yet, in spite of all the positive reports, the thought of the defaced altars in the Dales still nagged at him. Was it merely mockery, or was Ellana planning something?

* * *

After weeks of uncomfortable travel, Ellana arrived in the Free Marches to discover Dorian was right: Kirkwall was a bit of a shithole. Even with the years the city had spent rebuilding after the events that sparked the Mage Rebellion, the whole place was filthy, crowded, stinking. Varric’s persistent efforts as Viscount to clean up the city had barely put a dent in the political corruption and literal filth that had been present for decades. Ellana couldn’t find much to complain about when it came to her own residence, though. As Comtesse of Kirkwall, she was housed in one of the enormous mansions in Hightown. She thought she had been overwhelmed by the opulence of her quarters in Skyhold, but the manor was far worse. Heavy cloth-of-gold drapes hung at every window, the many bathrooms were marvels of copper pipeworks that poured out steaming bathwater, and the furniture was made of exotic woods carved in intricate patterns as delicate as Orlesian lace. Ellana spent the first week tiptoeing around her residence like a burglar, afraid she would break something expensive. Neither her life as a backwoods Dalish elf nor her later role as Inquisitor had prepared her to live like the nobility. No one but Varric and a handful of servants who cleaned the place knew she was there, but the mansion was a very luxurious place to remain hidden.

During that time, Ellana practically fastened herself to Varric, if only to keep her thoughts from straying to a round, illuminated room at Skyhold, where a soft-spoken mage had told her many beautiful lies. It helped that Varric had staunchly refused to live in the Viscount’s Keep, choosing to reside, instead, in one of the Hightown mansions that just so happened to adjoin Ellana’s own. This meant that Ellana was able to walk through a single door and visit Varric’s home.

They were in the midst of another game of Diamondback when Varric caught Ellana off guard. “I think it’s time I introduced you to a friend,” he said.

“Is that the best idea?” Ellana said. “You know I’m trying to keep a low profile here.”

Varric held up his hands. “Have some faith here, Inquisitor. The meeting would be at my house, not yours. And my friend is completely trustworthy.”

“What brought this on all of a sudden?”

Varric hesitated a bit too long before replying. “No offense, Inquisitor, but you seem to be floundering. You spend all hours of the day sifting through interlibrary loans from Starkhaven and barely find time to eat or sleep.”

Ellana frowned. “You know I’m trying to stop Solas.”

“I know. But destroying yourself isn’t going to get you any closer to doing that.”

“I know,” Ellana admitted. “But what else can I do?”

“Meet my friend for one.”

“Alright, Varric, if you think it will help.”

The next time Ellana visited Varric, she found him with an elf woman who looked near her own age. The woman’s short black hair and unfinished _vallaslin_ tugged at a memory for Ellana. Could it be? “Merrill? Merrill Sabrae?”

The woman turned. “Ellana?!” she rushed across the room, then stopped short, taking in the sight of Ellana’s ironbark prosthetic. “But—you’re _her_. The Herald.”

Ellana forced a smile. It was always hard to be seen as the Inquisitor first and herself second, but she was used to hiding how she felt about it.

“Have you left the Dalish? Or, disowned them? I can’t imagine the Chantry raising one of the People without—” Merrill trailed off.

Ellana shook her head. “I’m still Dalish. But you’re right, the Chantry tried their best to make me something else. The Herald of Andraste and all. I guess Varric didn’t tell you I was the Inquisitor.”

Varric seemed to take hearing his name as a good excuse to butt in. “I thought it was supposed to be a joke that all elves knew each other, but how in the world do you know Daisy?”

Merrill brightened. “We met at the _Arlathvhen,_ the Clansmeet, years ago. We were the only elves there from the Free Marches. And after. . .well, you know what happened with me and my clan.”

Ellana spoke up. “But I don’t. I wondered why we never heard much about you after a while.”

Merrill looked down at the floor. “My clan cast me out. Didn’t trust me. My Keeper said I’d bring the Blight down on them.”

“But why?”

“I found an eluvian. Or rather, reclaimed it after Mahariel found it. It was Blighted at first, but I cleansed it with blood magic. And then I fixed it. Or I thought I did. But it never worked properly.”

Ellana stared at her, dumbfounded. “You fixed a broken eluvian?”

“Well, yes, but like I said, it never really worked. I think something went wrong in the process—but I’m babbling again. Sorry.”

“Merrill, that’s brilliant.”

“Do you think so? My clan didn’t like it.”

“But what have you been doing since you left your clan?”

“Oh, lots of things. I tried to help Hawke save Kirkwall, but that didn’t go very well. Since then, I’ve been helping the elves in the alienage. Teaching them to read and write, helping them understand our culture, things like that. They like me better than my clan ever did. But what about you? You’re the Inquisitor?”

Ellana gave her a wry smile. “Yeah, I was. Mae sent me to the Conclave and I tried to save the Divine, but I ended up with a mark on my hand that could close the rifts instead.”

“But that’s not all. I heard you ended the war in Orlais and stopped another Blight and rode in on a giant nug to kill a darkspawn magister!”

“All true, except for the bit about the Blight. Where did you hear that?”

Varric cleared his throat.

Ellana groaned. “Varric? Did you put that in your book?”

“Don’t blame me! My publisher couldn’t make sense of a not-really-archdemon Blighted dragon.”

Merrill sounded wistful as she said, “You’ve become everything I could’ve hoped to have been: a champion for the Dalish, someone who could guide them in the old ways.”

Ellana frowned. “It’s not like that. Most of the Dalish don’t even know I’m an elf. The clan I met in _Dirthavaren_ could hardly believe the Inquisitor was Dalish.”

Merrill’s face fell. “But that can’t be.”

“I’m sorry, Merrill.”

“All my years of trying to help my people understand our ways, and it came to nothing. I thought if anyone could teach them, it would be someone like you.”

“It’s a little more complicated than that, I’m afraid.”

“Why?” Merrill asked.

“You’re not going to like this. Maybe we should sit down.”

Nearly an hour later found Merrill exclaiming, “Your lover was _the Dread Wolf_?”

“Yes. But that’s not really the important part.”

“Are you sure? It all sounds very romantic to me,” Merrill said.

A loud “humph” sounded from the corner where Varric sat. Ellana cocked an eyebrow at him. He waved.

“Allergies,” he claimed. “The servants must’ve missed some dust in here.”

“Varric,” Merrill said, “why don’t you approve?”

Varric straightened in his chair. “Sure, it’s romantic to be involved with an ancient elven lunatic who wants to end the world.”

“Wasn’t he your friend, too?

“Well, yes, until he took off for two years and showed up again as a crazy god.”

“It changes so much, though,” Merrill said, ignoring Varric in favor of Ellana. “And he’s out there now, trying to destroy the world. Do you wonder if he still loves you?”

Ellana grimaced. “I’m almost certain he does, because I see him most nights in the Fade.”

“Then he’s a Dreamer?”

“Yes. And he uses his abilities to bother me so much that I almost don’t want to sleep.”

“I knew a Dreamer once,” Merrill said. “His name was Feynriel. My Keeper and I helped Hawke save him from the Fade.”

“You saved someone from the Fade? How?”

“My Keeper was able to figure out an old Dalish ritual that allows someone to travel the Fade like a Dreamer. She gave the ritual book to Hawke, who gave it to me for safekeeping. I’ve never had a reason to try it again, but I think I still have it. I like to keep records of Dalish magic.”

“But—that’s perfect,” Ellana said. A light came into her eyes for the first time in weeks. “If you can find the book your Keeper had, I’d love to take a look.” 

As soon as Merrill left that evening, Varric turned to Ellana. “Okay, I have to know. What are you planning?”

“I’m going to try that Dreamer ritual.”

“Is that so? And what will that accomplish?”

“If I can get to Solas in the Fade, I have a good chance of at least finding his base.”

“Is that a good idea?”

Ellana shrugged. “It’s a shot, at least.”

“I’d like to have a shot at that idiot. With Bianca.”

Ellana sighed.

“Still all caught up in the tragic romance, are we?”

“I can’t seem to help it.”

“You’re better off without him, Inquisitor. But I know you know that deep down.”

“I’d rather not talk about it.”

“That’s fair. But can I at least convince you to stop spending eighteen hours a day trying to keep your crazy boyfriend from blowing up the world?”

“Probably not.”

“At least consider it.”

“Alright, Varric. I’ll think about it. But you do know if the world blows, you’re going with it, right?”

“Of course. I’m doing my part for the ‘don’t blow up the world’ cause.”

“You are?”

“Do you think I’d just ignore this shit? Threat of imminent world implosion is bad for my creative process. The sooner I shut down Chuckles’ operation, the sooner I get back to _Swords and Shields, Volume III_.”

“ _Swords and Shields_? I thought you gave up on that one.”

Varric gave a tired smile. “You don’t say no to the Right Hand of the Divine.”

Ellana grinned. “You’re writing it for Cassandra.”

Varric sputtered. “Not exactly. Turns out the series was pretty lucrative on its own. And I’d rather not be excommunicated.”

“I doubt Cassandra has that kind of power. And the Chantry doesn’t actually do that, do they?”

“There’s always a first time.”

Ellana laughed. “Whatever you say.”

* * *

Solas had made too much of a habit out of haunting Lavellan’s dreams. He knew it was unwise to linger by her side often, but he also couldn’t help stealing glances at her every time he wasn’t busy working in his sleep. He always maintained careful control of the situation, however, disguising himself as a wolf and drawing both of them to a neutral location somewhere in the Fade. That way Ellana would have no way of guessing his location and he avoided a scene that would reawaken painful memories.

He had it on good authority, though, that the fortress was now sitting empty. It was too strong a temptation to resist. When he slipped into the Fade that night, he let himself wander to Skyhold. He roamed the familiar halls, pretending to himself that he only wished to see what had changed in his two-year absence. But every step stirred memories of her, until he entered the rotunda and found he was not alone. At first, Solas believed it was only a spirit, bringing the memory of her to life. Then she turned.

“Solas?” she said. She looked as confused as he was. 

“Ellana,” he replied. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same. It’s technically still my fortress.”

He chuckled quietly. “I suppose. But I believed this place was abandoned. That is why I came here.”

“You were dodging me until the place was empty?” A smirk crossed her face. “Too afraid I’d make you feel guilty?”

Solas ignored her. “My magic must have brought you here. Another rehearsal of my regret. But no matter.” He diverted the subject to the matter that had been troubling him: “I believe my agents came across some work of yours in the Dales, _vhenan_. If you are attempting to declare war, I would advise you against it. Will you not lay down your burden and rest instead?”

Ellana laughed. “When have I ever been able to do that?”

“Then you will raise yourself against me. I had hoped Abelas was wrong.”

“I promised to stop you. Did you really expect anything different?”

He sighed. “No.”

“This is just how it will be, _ma vhenan_. Get used to it.”

“Your struggles will only bring you more sorrow.”

Ellana put a hand to his face and a shudder passed through him at the touch. “You know I never listen to your sage advice, after all,” she said dismissively. “I’m a slow learner.”

Solas kissed her fingertips. “Wake,” he said.

He woke as well, and found himself shaking. His magic had betrayed him this time. He knew he could not risk visiting Ellana again. It was painful enough catching glimpses of her from a distance, but he was not prepared to speak to her. It had taken him two years to prepare himself for their last conversation, after all. 

Someone pounded at the door to his office. “Enter!” Solas barked, more harshly than he intended.

It was Abelas, of course. “Sir, we have an unwelcome development.”

“Report, general.”

Solas could hardly believe it, even though he left his work behind him to investigate the rumor in person. But it was true. Briala, formerly one of his staunchest supporters, had disappeared, nearly two weeks earlier.

“Why was this just now discovered?” Solas demanded.

“You gave your approval to have her sent on a mission to Nevarra. She was to report back tonight. It seems she slipped away from all the agents we sent with her and made her escape. It’s clear that she has betrayed us and likely defected to our enemy’s side.”

“She is certainly a traitor, but that does not mean that she has joined our enemy. She is not one to take foolhardy risks. More likely she has fallen back to Antiva or some other safe haven to begin her political machinations again. If our allies have failed to find Lavellan, it is unlikely for Briala to succeed.”

Solas was grateful that he had listened to his instincts and had never really trusted Briala with any of the more important information about his plans. She had always been stationed at the least important bases, where only a handful of spies were being trained to use the maze of eluvians. Briala had been assigned to instruct them in the spymaster’s art, as well as learning to traverse the enchanted mirrors. But apparently she had caught wind of something that made her want to escape her responsibilities. Solas tried not to think of what such a brilliant woman might have discovered about his operations.

While he had done his best to keep Briala out of power, he knew all too well that the woman was a political mastermind and that she had good reasons to act against him. Truth be told, he recognized in her a kindred spirit, a master of the Game. Which gave her the potential to be a formidable opponent if she had defected to the enemy’s forces. Worse than that was considering her allied with Ellana. Lavellan had fallen easily enough for the misinformation she had been fed about Briala at Halamshiral, but that did not mean she would reject an alliance with the Orlesian spymaster this time. And such an alliance could only prove troublesome for Solas.

But Solas would admit none of this to Abelas. As usual, his strategy was to let none of his concerns show. While he knew he was failing to completely conceal the deep sorrow that stemmed from the task ahead of him, Solas refused to let anyone see that he was anything less than certain of his success. Thankfully, no one had yet begun to question why their efforts had focused on research: collecting ancient artifacts, unearthing tombs, and delving in mines, rather than laying siege to human strongholds. Though it hurt his heart to deceive his people, he knew that these delays were necessary. But then, he had been a deceiver for many years. He sometimes wondered why the lies never got any easier.

He was only a few steps from bringing down the Veil. A single artifact and the words of a ritual lay between him and realizing his goal. Two years he had hesitated, unwilling to claim the secret locked away beneath the Black City in the Fade. Two years spent clinging steadfastly to the hope that perhaps there could be an easier way than using the power he had sealed away so many eons ago. That was why he stalled and obfuscated. That was why he spent all his forces’ energies on research and fetching artifacts. Until the last moment, he had hoped to avoid using the power of the Evanuris. Now he was dead set on doing just that. All other hopes were lost.

Abelas startled him out of his reverie. “My lord, surely you will act now.”

Solas nodded to his general. “Assemble a team to search for her. We cannot afford to let her disappear.” 


	2. News From Val Royeaux

" _THERE EXISTS A small shrine of the cult's on the outskirts of the Brecilian Forest that I had the fortune of visiting recently, and what I discovered there astounded me. Neatly placed on the shrine were the offerings of tea and strange, biscuit-shaped bricks, but as the sun continued to rise, there, illuminated on the entire surface of the masonry, were dozens of graven images of a phallic nature. I can only guess at their purpose; however, I should like to put forth a theory. . ._ "

\- _Religious Sites of Primitive Peoples, Third Edition_ , Brother Ferdinand Genitivi [excerpt]

As promised, Merrill had brought the book that Keeper Marethari had used years earlier. It was a surprisingly slim volume for something so important. The soft leather binding was worked with images of Dirthamen, the God of Secrets.

“ _Tome of the Slumbering Elders_ ,” Ellana read aloud. “Sounds ominous.”

“It’s a journal, actually,” Merrill said.

“Have you read it?” Ellana asked.

“Of course. I like learning new magic.”

“Do you know how to do the ritual, then?”

“I’ve never tried it, but I think I know how it’s done.”

“When I’ve read the book, would you be willing to try it with me? To send me into the Fade?”

“Of course,” Merrill said. “But you don’t mind that I’m a blood mage?”

“Not really. One of the things that Solas and I agreed on was that magic is magic. Blood magic is just a different school of magic.”

“I wish more people believed that.” 

Ellana smiled. “I’m used to being friends with controversial mages, anyway. My best friend from the Inquisition was an altus from Tevinter.” She pulled out the sending crystal. “He gave me this.”

“What is it?” Merrill asked, a look of wonder on her face.

“It’s a sending crystal. It lets me call Dorian from anywhere.”

“That’s incredible!”

“It helps us communicate about the efforts against Solas. Speaking of which, I should get to reading.”

Ellana took several hours reading the book, discussing each section with Merrill to be sure they had the same understanding of how the ritual worked. The information was surprisingly straightforward, unlike the written magic Ellana had become accustomed to. The Knight-Enchanter spells she had learned with the Inquisition had focused on rigid self-control, and it was a surprising comfort to return to the flexibility of Dalish spells. The entries in the journal spanned several years, as the mage who wrote them had tried various methods to access the Fade. Ellana was grateful to find that the entirety of the ritual was written clearly at the end of the book. It would have been nearly impossible to wade through the various entries to find the one that worked. She was thankful, as well, that she would be the one walking the Fade while Merrill controlled the spell, because the working looked to be very demanding.

The ritual became their pastime when Merrill was not occupied at the alienage. In spite of Varric’s protests, it consumed all of their spare time for weeks. It turned out that working in tandem with another mage was far more complicated than either of them had anticipated. Marethari, Merrill’s Keeper, had had enough years of studying the ritual to learn how to support the spell herself. Merrill and Ellana had to balance the work between them, with Merrill casting the spell that would allow Ellana to enter the Fade, while Ellana helped sustain the spell once she was there. If either of them slipped, the whole spell came crashing down.

Most evenings held a similar sight: the two of them bent over the slim volume, studying its contents. It happened that neither Ellana nor Merrill had a perfect grasp of how to cast in elven. While Merrill could read the language fluently and could speak far more of it than Ellana, the pronunciations were a consistent stumbling block. But they still attempted to cast the ritual a few times a week. Merrill was surprisingly relentless when it came to their perfecting the spell, but Ellana matched her in determination.

Unfortunately, raw dedication was not enough to make the ritual work properly. Trying to manipulate the Fade was like trying to steer the ocean. The magic there actively resisted their efforts to change it, and they found every effort led only to more frustration. To complicate things even further, the Fade that Ellana entered in her sleep felt vastly different from the waking Fade. She supposed it was like stepping from a warm room into a cold one. When Ellana entered the Fade in her sleep, it was like being in a room with a dying fire, feeling it slowly grow colder. Entering the Fade awake was like stepping from your fireside into a snowstorm. Sometimes just the shock of it was enough to break Ellana’s trance. And that was not the only difficulty. Once, the world had rearranged itself upside down and Ellana was cast from the Fade when she collided with the ceiling. Another time, the rooms of her house seemed to have rearranged themselves into a labyrinth and she had wrenched herself from inside when she found herself falling down what seemed to be an endless stairwell. The Fade was tricky in ways that she had no way of understanding, which only made the attempt to control it feel more hopeless. Memories were caught inside, often reenacted by spirits. There were demons there, too, lying in wait to tempt careless or power-hungry mages. The whole place was dangerous, unpredictable, and wickedly capricious.

Merrill struggled with the ritual as well. It was an immensely complicated working, one that had taken Marethari decades to learn. If Merrill stumbled over a word or her mental grip on the Fade slipped, Ellana would be cast out again. It was a difficult task for both of them—one that frequently saw them downing several pots of tea and staying up all hours of the night until they finally fell into an exhausted sleep where they sat.

This was another of those nights where they had been struggling for hours.

“Let’s try again,” Merrill said for the third time. “I think I have the right pronunciation this time.”

Ellana obeyed, bracing herself for the rush of magic. The Fade swirled around her. This had happened a few times and was always disconcerting. She focused her intent, as the book had instructed, turning all her thoughts toward Solas. Merrill must have gotten the words right this time, because Ellana caught a glimpse of a familiar figure. He sat behind a desk that was covered with papers, books, maps, the sort of paraphernalia she remembered littering her own desk at Skyhold. He glanced up at her. “Ellana?” he said.

Just as she started to respond, a shout from the waking world brought Ellana careening out of the trance.

Merrill was on her feet, staff in hand. The _Tome of the Slumbering Elders_ lay askew on the floor. “Who are you?” Merrill demanded of a hooded figure that had appeared sometime while they were occupied with the ritual.

“ _Ir abelas_ ,” the figure said in a woman’s voice. Ellana noted an Orlesian accent. “I seem to have come to the wrong house.”

Ellana moved to stand beside Merrill. “Answer her question: who are you, stranger?”

“Have you forgotten me so quickly, Inquisitor?” The figure lowered her hood, revealing her brown skin and thick, dark curls.

“Briala? What are you doing here? Did Solas send you?”

“Hardly. I’m here because I heard rumors of a dwarf in Kirkwall who is willing to help those who betray Solas.”

“Then you’re here for Varric,” Merrill said.

“Yes. I had hoped to talk with him, but I clearly tried the wrong house. I didn’t expect to find the Inquisitor hidden away in Kirkwall.”

“How do we know you aren’t spying for Solas?” Ellana asked.

“I can only give you my word. I came to offer my help to your dwarf friend. I have information that could benefit his cause.”

“What sort of information?”

“Would it matter to you? As far as the rest of the world can see, the Inquisitor has vanished. Many are claiming it is because you’re Dalish; that once you slipped from the Chantry’s leash, you stopped caring about the rest of the world.”

“That’s not fair to the Dalish,” Merrill said indignantly. “We keep to ourselves, yes, but we’re not about to sit back while the world burns. We help how we can. That’s what the spell you interrupted is for. Ellana and I are trying to stop the Dread Wolf.”

Briala looked startled. “Then it’s just as well I came to this house. I apologize for the slight against your people. My experience with the Dalish has been difficult.” She turned back to Ellana. “I know what Solas is planning, Inquisitor. And the locations of many of his bases. A number of my agents are still working for him.”

“But why would you join us?”

“Because your lover speaks the way mine once did. Celene assured me that she cared for the elves, that she would make the world better for them. And the moment they came between her and her plans, she burned them all in the streets of Halamshiral. Solas speaks as if he cares for his people, but his plan will purge the world with fire if it succeeds.”

Merrill spoke up again, “Sorry, but, Celene? Then you’re _that_ Briala? The one who was partial ruler of Orlais in the truce?”

Briala nodded. “Before the truce fell apart.”

“You did a lot for the elves in Orlais.”

“Not as much as I would’ve liked.” There was an edge of pain in Briala’s voice.

“You said your agents are still working with Solas?” Ellana asked. “Won’t he have them jailed or killed when he realizes you’re gone?”

Briala laughed. “The ones who are still with him never admitted they were my agents before. Solas doesn’t know they work for me.”

Ellana snorted. “So much for him lecturing me about the Inquisition being full of double agents.”

“Indeed. My people are ready and willing to help the Inquisition; if you will have me.”

“Welcome to our cause,” Ellana said, offering Briala her hand. Briala took it.

* * *

Solas had grown accustomed to working in his sleep. It was convenient—allowing him to rest while laboring in the Fade—and it had become a habit during his long years in _uthenera._ It was miserable living with the Veil cutting him off from the Fade, and his time spent dreaming was the best way to ease that torment. Now he questioned whether he had begun to rely too much on his Dreamer abilities, because he had either hallucinated Ellana or she had found a way to seek him out in the Fade. Either way, it was unlikely he would sleep again tonight.

He worried that he was losing his mind. Perhaps he had chosen a camp too far into Arlathan Forest. Red lyrium was known for giving people visions and what was more likely for him to hallucinate than Ellana? It had only been a glimpse, though. A delusion likely would have lasted longer. His magic must have played another trick on him.

At first, he considered returning to the work that had just occupied him in the Fade, but it seemed doubtful he would be able to rein in his racing mind well enough to concentrate on such dull work. His office suddenly felt too small. Knowing it was useless to keep pacing the cage of his own thoughts, Solas rose and went into the hall. He stumbled on something in the dark. “ _Fenedhis!_ ” he swore as he bashed his shin painfully. He had tripped over the paws of one of the wolf statues that flanked his office doors.

This base was relatively new, but his office had been the first room outfitted. It was one of the fully intact rooms in the ruin, and his people had wasted no time in making sure it was furnished with everything from rugs to tapestries to the enormous sylvanwood desk. He had painted the doors himself, adorning them with more self-portraits, another of his endless attempts to remind himself of his cause. It was the last painting he had done in weeks. The statues were a recent addition and he had accepted them as merely another piece of the image he must maintain. He liked keeping his followers a little in awe of him.

Unfortunately, the statues also proved to be an excellent stumbling block in the dark. Solas was just considering how lucky it was that no one was there to see him, when a voice spoke out of the dark.

“My lord, are you well?” Abelas’ voice nearly frightened Solas out of his wits.

“General!” Solas snapped, his frayed nerves betraying him. “What are you doing in the hall this late?”

“I was walking to help clear my head, my lord.”

“Most of the camp is sleeping,” Solas reminded him.

“Sleep eludes me these days. Perhaps from having spent so many centuries in its grip. I’m sure you understand, sir.”

“ _Uthenera_ is a difficult path. To wake and see how the world has changed in one’s absence. It can break your heart.”

“Indeed, my lord.” Abelas’ tone shared none of Solas’s pathos. “If you will forgive my presumption, there is something I would ask you.”

“Yes, general?”

“What is it we are working toward?”

“The restoration of—” Solas began, but Abelas interrupted him.

“Yes, the restoration of Arlathan and the glory of _elvhenan_. That is what we have told the new recruits. I am not one of the young _shemlen_ who call themselves _elvhen_ , my lord. I would have the truth. For two years, we have remained a spy network and not an army. I would like to understand our goals.”

Solas wished he could be angry, but Abelas was the nearest to understanding him of anyone. Abelas had seen the world before the Veil and knew the beauty of Arlathan. Of all his followers, only Abelas knew what had been lost.

“Come with me,” Solas said. They returned to his office, Solas carefully skirting around the Dread Wolf statuary. “Close the door,” he ordered Abelas. “This is the only place we may truly speak privately.” He waited for the door to swing shut before continuing, “We work for the restoration of Arlathan, yes. The true Arlathan. The Dalish and the city elves murmur amongst themselves about New Arlathan, and they may speak as they please. They need not know the truth.”

“Which is?”

“Before their fall, the Evanuris had nearly completed the creation of a new focus, one that could control all of the lyrium they wove into the world. And, when fed enough blood, it could control time itself.” Solas let out a bitter laugh. “They intended to use it to reverse time and prevent the slave rebellion.”

“You intend to forge the focus and remake the world, then.”

“Yes. When the Veil is drawn down, enough magic will pour into the world to strengthen the ritual. Then the focus will burn away every mortal creature, providing the necessary blood to fuel the magic, and triggering our return to the past.”

“Your plan is to use the magic of the Evanuris to purge the world, then to transport us back to Arlathan?”

“Indeed.”

“And what will happen when we get there?”

“The Evanuris will be eliminated, using the power of the focus. They bound themselves to it and that will be their undoing. All of the slaves will be freed, and no one will be held in chains ever again.”

Abelas looked unimpressed. “And I suppose they will all fall at the feet of their great rescuer, the Rebel God Fen’Harel.”

“I would not presume to rule the People,” Solas said dismissively.

“But you know that is the likely outcome.”

“I do not deny it.”

“Will you do anything to prevent it?”

“That is the least of my concerns right now.”

“What about the Lady? Will you save Mythal or destroy her with the rest?”

“I will not kill her. My revenge on the Evanuris was for her sake.”

“But she betrayed you somehow, did she not?”

“She did once, yes. Years later, she regretted her actions. She freed her slaves and tried to aid my rebellion. The Evanuris turned on her because of me.”

“You could appoint her to rule the People.”

“That is a concern for later, general. For now, we must focus on the present, and how we will return to Arlathan. The rest will be determined after.”

“You don’t have a plan for when we return?”

Solas crossed his arms defensively across his chest. “I never said that.”

“It certainly sounds that way. And in that case, what am I to believe except that you would wrench power from your ancient enemies only to seize it for yourself?” Abelas demanded.

“If you believe that, then you have misunderstood everything I have set out to accomplish. Perhaps you should reconsider your words, general.” Solas’s tone could draw blood.

“Forgive me, my lord. Perhaps it is only my worries speaking.”

“Perhaps you should take another look at the ruins we have settled and remind yourself how many centuries of suffering and loss we could prevent. I desire justice for the People. An end to the wrongs that have been done to them. Isn’t that what you want?”

“Indeed, sir. _Ir abelas_.”

“Now, if you would show yourself out, it is time we both were asleep.”

* * *

Ellana was not expecting a letter from Divine Victoria when Varric brought it by. He found her researching more dream magic tomes from Starkhaven, while Merrill and Briala discussed the Kirkwall alienage.

“It was addressed to me, but it was definitely meant for you. Special seal and all,” Varric told her. He raised his eyebrows at the sight of Briala. “I see you have a visitor.”

“Is that alright?” Ellana asked.

Varric shrugged. “It’s your house. Unless you want me to put a sign on the door that says ‘Varric Tethras’ Home for Wayward Elves.’”

“If it will get me more help stopping Solas, you can put whatever you want on the door.”

“Considering the current lack of advertising, I am curious how she got here.”

“She interrupted the ritual late last night.”

“So she knew you were here?”

“She was looking for you, actually.”

“Me?” Varric chuckled. “Maybe I’m on to something with the Home for Wayward Elves.”

“Word is out that you’re the person to come to if someone wants to defect from the Agents of Fen’Harel.”

“I see. Well, there are worse things to be known for. I’ll leave you to your letter.” He headed through the door that adjoined their houses.

Ellana was concerned. Leliana wasn’t usually one for sending letters. More often, one of her agents left a note with Varric. Ellana drew the letter out of the envelope and found it had been folded with another sheet of paper. Curious, she separated the attachment.

“A Series of Lectures on the Newly-Discovered Cult of Fen’Harel,” she read aloud.

Merrill and Briala fell silent.

“The Dread Wolf has a cult?” Merrill asked.

“There are plenty of people who think all of his followers are cultists,” Briala volunteered. “Maybe the Chantry is just now discovering Solas’s army.”

Ellana skimmed the flyer for clues. “They’re promising a discussion of how long the cult has existed, a debate on the intended purpose of the offerings left at the Dalish altars, and speculations on Fen’Harel’s rumored new role as a fertility god.”

Merrill looked horrified. “A fertility god? Whatever would make them think Fen’Harel was a fertility god?”

“ _The offerings left at the Dalish altars,_ ” Ellana read again. Then realization came crashing down. “Oh _no_. I know what this is.” She burst out laughing.

Merrill was still perplexed. “I don’t see what’s funny. Did I miss something dirty again?”

Consumed by giggles, Ellana finally managed to say, “It’s not the Dalish. It’s us.”

“What do you mean, us?” Briala asked.

“Some friends from the Inquisition, Dorian and Sera, and me. We were the ones who did it. We left tea and burnt cookies on the altars, and Sera painted dicks on the shrines and the wolf statues.”

Merrill gasped. “But you’ll bring the Dread Wolf’s wrath down on you!”

Ellana snorted. “Solas’s wrath doesn’t scare me. He’s already mad at me.”

Merrill blushed and looked at the floor. “Oh, right. I forget sometimes. Sorry.”

“It takes some getting used to,” Ellana reassured her. “No need for apologies.”

“What did the letter have to say?” Briala wanted to know.

Ellana bit her lip. “Leliana’s going to kill me.”

The letter was brief, asking that Ellana attend the lectures at the Divine’s behest and investigate the rumors about the new cult. Afterward, Leliana wished to discuss her findings.

“It looks like I’m going to Val Royeaux,” Ellana told the others.

Unfortunately, that meant she had to tell Varric, since he was supposed to be keeping an eye on her.

He was not pleased to hear about the plan. “Why on earth would she send you to Orlais?”

“Leliana wants me to go to these lectures. She’s traveling that day.” She handed him the flyer, bracing herself for his response. Varric did not disappoint.

He burst out laughing, a fit that lasted several minutes, until he was wheezing. Once he caught his breath again, he asked, “Is this because of that stunt you pulled in the Dales?”

“Unfortunately.”

Varric clapped her on the back. “This is the best thing that’s ever happened to Chantry scholarship. Can you imagine all of Andraste’s finest peering at one of Buttercup’s penis paintings, trying to make sense of it?”

Ellana giggled. “It is pretty funny. Solas is going to break out in hives when he finds out.”

“Now that’s the best part. I almost wish I could go myself to see what kind of shitshow this will be.”

“I’ll give you all the details when I get back—if Leliana doesn’t kill me first.”

“I’m holding you to that. And if she hasn’t killed any of the higher ups in Val Royeaux, I’m sure she won’t have it in for you.”

* * *

Solas had finally decided to attend to a task that he had been avoiding for some time: sifting through the artifacts that his followers had been plundering from locations ranging from ancient temples to Tevinter mansions. He found himself putting off the tedious work for weeks at a time, because it was such a frustration. A handful of his agents had thorough enough knowledge of ancient Arlathan to know whether or not the supposed artifact they had acquired was actually an elven device. Fewer still could recognize the genuine article from a reproduction. Only Solas could recognize magical artifacts. He had learned that the hard way by putting Abelas in charge of sorting the acquisitions months before, only to be handed a surprising number of elven cooking utensils that “looked like magical devices,” according to his general. Solas had been swiftly reminded that Abelas was no mage. So the sorting fell to Fen’Harel himself.

He made his way down to what had previously been the dungeon of the fortress, which now served as a holding space for all the potentially useful junk his followers brought in. Solas had purged the dungeon with fire when his forces had first settled in the fortress. It was the easiest way to clear out the infestation of Blight beetles and poison spiders that were common in the area. Now it looked like it could use a good cleansing of all of the clutter his agents had accumulated.

Solas sighed and pulled up a stool to begin sorting. The books, at least, he could entrust to Morrigan, who would be able to determine what was of interest to the cause. He started his organization with the non-magical rubbish. There had been an enormous amount of magical rubbish, as well. Tevinter was so steeped in magic that its richer citizens seemed to enchant everything. Solas had discovered that when a magical apple corer nearly burned a hole in the ceiling during the last sorting. 

He fell into a rhythm now, categorizing neat piles. The work was almost relaxing, until he propped a mirror mistaken for an eluvian next to a pile of fake elven statuary. When he stepped away from the false eluvian, he noticed that the glass had moved in the frame, just enough to reveal that it was meant to swing open. Curious, Solas opened the glass to examine the compartment inside. It was full of hooks laden with intricate tools. To someone less knowledgeable, they might have looked like a surgeon’s tools. Solas immediately recognized them as a magister’s implements used for blood magic and experimentation.

In the center of the compartment, there was a smaller alcove that housed a book. Traces of dark magic emanated from the book, but Solas still took it from the compartment. He knew that a magister’s journals could contain references to all sorts of artifacts and magical knowledge that had made their way into the writer’s possession. While he would ordinarily hand books over to Morrigan, this particular volume felt dangerous. Cautiously, he began reading. It was a sparse collection of notes, scrawled in Arcanum. The name Danarius had been carefully lettered on the inside of the front cover. The notes seemed to be a record of the magister’s experiments.

_Parvulis 12, 9:21 Dragon_

_Another failure. The slaves painted with the lyrium went mad overnight and slaughtered one another. No way of knowing whether the lyrium was receptive. Still deciphering the Arlathvhen. The dialect is old, but translation suggests lyrium on or in the skin._

_Parvulis 22, 9:21 Dragon_

_A new shipment, this time with interesting variants. Some are elves, called Dalish, captured near Arlathan forest. The eldest of them bear intricate tattoos on their faces, which inspired a new series of tests._

_Frumentum 3, 9:21 Dragon_

_Once embedded under the skin, the lyrium remains intact and very magic receptive. Unfortunately, all of the subjects have gone mad and died within days. Subjects die faster with larger quantities. Most successful were those whose tattoos resembled those of the elves, but none have survived thus far. Must find a subject made of sterner stuff._

Solas stopped reading. He had no choice because the text had begun to swim on the page. The book grew hot in his hands. He screamed in pain as it began to burn his skin. His mind went dark, a sensation like falling into a deep well. For a moment, he thought death had come to claim him.

He found himself in a memory. He stood with Mythal, in a garden outside her palace in Arlathan. The sight of her face brought tears to his eyes. She was the one who had called him, Wisdom, from the air and given him the name Solas, Pride. He had been proud to serve her, the mighty All-Mother, who ruled justly by Elgar’nan’s side.

This was not a memory he would have chosen to relive. He stood by Mythal’s side as a prisoner was brought forward in chains. A man he knew well, who had helped him with many midnight raids to free the slaves of Arlathan. Mythal dismissed the guards.

“Solas,” Mythal said coldly. “This man was captured helping slaves flee into the forest. He is believed to be a leader in Fen’Harel’s uprising. There is no need for a trial, as he was caught in the act. We believe he knows the identity of the Dread Wolf, but he has resisted all efforts to make him speak.”

Solas tried not to think of the torture his compatriot had endured, and all to keep him safe. He hoped the man would endure a little longer, until an effort could be made to rescue him from Elgar’nan’s prison.

“Do you have any leads on possible accomplices?” Solas asked, carefully maintaining his calm demeanor.

“We have some leads, yes, but that is not why I brought him here. As my Seneschal, you have the right of executioner. If this man will not speak, he is no longer useful to me.”

“Why kill him?” Solas asked, his heart racing behind his mask of passivity. “Would imprisonment not suit him just as well?”

“While his friends remain free, he has hope of rescue. Better to end him than risk his loss.”

“I do not like it, my lady.”

“You hesitate. Why?” Mythal’s gaze seemed to lay open his heart. Solas gritted his teeth and willed himself not to break. He could not betray his cause.

“I simply do not see the wisdom in throwing away a life,” he said carefully.

“You speak so eloquently on behalf of a traitor and a thief. But do not forget whom you serve. You will kill him. Now.”

For the first time, Solas looked his ally in the eye. There was fear there. Solas felt a similar fear gripping him, but he knew he could not waver. Every member of Fen’Harel’s forces was ready to lay down their life to free the slaves of the Evanuris. Solas drew his sword.

The sun glinted off the blade as he readied his swing and his friend cried out, “No! Please! Spare me, Fen’Harel!”

Solas’s sword fell from his grasp.

Mythal’s smile felt like a dagger to his ribs. “Fen’Harel?”

“Yes,” he said, staring her full in the face.

“You are the upstart who rises against us? After all your oaths of allegiance? I made you one of us, Solas!”

“I followed you willingly while you ruled with reason. I accepted the power you gave that I might help the People. No empire should be built on the backs of slaves.”

“You have forgotten your place, my friend. You may be the Dread Wolf, but I still hold your leash.”

Pain flared through his face as she reached out her hand toward his _vallaslin_. A mark of honor, she had called it, when the lyrium was tattooed across his face. A symbol of her favor. Slave markings.

The _vallaslin_ overpowered his will and forced him to pick up his sword. Held helpless in the grip of Mythal’s magic, Solas cut down his friend.

He came back to the present with a howl of sorrow and pain. He was lying on the floor, where he must have fallen when the book began to burn. Someone knelt beside him. Morrigan.

“What in the world possessed you to open that book?” the witch demanded.

Solas sat up, weakly. “I did not think it would cause any harm.”

Morrigan shook her head, disgusted. “There was a powerful memory hex set on it by the magister who wrote it. I had to drag you out.”

“ _Ma serannas_.” 

“‘Twas most fortunate I heard your screams and not some less capable mage.”

“Indeed,” Solas agreed. He paused to think, then said, “A memory hex?”

“An ugly thing, but exactly the type of magical trap set by magisters. It captures you in a succession of painful memories until your mind collapses.”

“Ah. Ingenious.” Solas glanced around. “What has become of the book?”

“‘Tis reduced to cinders by now. I found it aflame.”

“Good riddance, then. But I have discovered our next step.”

“Which is?”

“The journal belonged to a Magister Danarius. He mentioned a volume called _Arlathvhen_. We will investigate who is in possession of that book. Danarius is likely dead, as his secret notes found his way into our vault.”

“ _Arlathvhen_? Is that not the Dalish word for their Clansmeet?”

“The Dalish are not so wrong in their use of the word. The term was often used for meetings of elven leaders. The word itself means ‘for love of the People.’ The book contains the spells of the elven mages from the time of Arlathan. The title is one of their cruel jokes.”

“We must hope that that volume doesn’t nearly hex you into the Void as well, my lord,” Morrigan sniped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to operativelm for the Genitivi quote at the opening of this chapter!


	3. Forged in the Heavens, Hidden in the Abyss

" _. . . however, it seems that this cult of Fen'Harel, for lack of a better name, existed not in any one location, but was spread out across all of Ferelden, if not further. While an affront to the Maker Himself, one must nevertheless wonder as to its origins, its history, and its decline._ "

\- _The Great Wolves of Yesteryear: An Introduction to the Cult of Fen'Harel_ , Brother Ferdinand Genitivi [excerpt]

It took weeks of uncomfortable travel, made even more troublesome by the need to remain anonymous, but Ellana had finally arrived in the capitol of Orlais and was excited to attend the Chantry lectures. She looked forward to hearing what sort of absurd speculation had sprung up around the pilgrimage. And Orlais was, thankfully, one of the few places she could still move freely. Since most of the population was mired in racist snobbery, no one spared a second glance at a masked elf, unless they were mistaking her for a servant. The only trouble she had was accessing the estate where the lectures were being held, until she simply walked through the servants’ entrance. The highlight of the talks was a discussion of the two different treatises published under Brother Genitivi’s name that related the recent discoveries. Ellana sat through the whole thing, fighting to suppress her laughter.

One of the more strenuous adjustments Ellana had to make was in listening to the way the scholars spoke. She was accustomed to Dalish Hahrens telling their tales to the clan, especially the young children, who would not sit still for a boring lecture. Dalish storytelling was dynamic, often cooperative; Hahrens frequently appealed to their listeners to chime in with the next line of a well-known story. Ellana was used to the conversational style of the Dalish speakers. The Chantry scholars seemed concerned mainly with appearing important and outdoing each other on the use of multisyllabic words. If most Chantry sermons were like this, Ellana could not imagine attending every week like some of her friends. 

Currently, one of the three scholars who claimed to be appearing on behalf of Brother Genitivi was droning on about supposed Dalish fertility rites. “Whereas, in the past it has been documented that the Dalish practiced rites of Mythal, the so-called ‘All-Mother’ in connection to fertility, providing the basis for much speculation on the subject of elves dancing naked in moonlit groves, it is now believed that the forbidden god Fen’Harel has superseded that place in the pantheon.”

Ellana choked back a snort. Elves dancing naked in the moonlight? Were Chantry scholars really so ignorant?

The next lecturer was hardly better: “My colleague has raised some interesting speculations on the idea of Fen’Harel assuming the place of Mythal in the elven pantheon. It has been noted, however, that the Inquisition’s expedition to the temple of the elven goddess Mythal discovered various statues of Fen’Harel situated inside the temple. Coupled with the findings in the Dales, this suggests that the elves view Fen’Harel as a sort of attendant to the goddess Mythal. That perhaps he serves as a guardian to worshipers enacting the fertility rites dedicated to Mythal. Clearly, both deities have coexisted for many centuries, and it is foolish speculation to suggest that one has taken the place of the other. My fellow scholars would do well to consider the legend of the elven Emerald Knights, who were always accompanied by their guardian wolves. Clearly, the Dread Wolf serves as the guardian of Mythal’s worshipers, and that is why their offerings are dedicated to him.”

Ellana was amused to hear this take on the controversial Dread Wolf statues in Mythal’s temple. It had taken Morrigan three days to stop fretting over what the statues meant, while she and Solas sniped at each other constantly on the subject. Ellana realized that she was actually glad to understand why Solas had been so sore about Morrigan’s opinion. If he had been that aggravated about one person questioning the right for statues of Fen’Harel statues to be placed inside the Temple of Mythal, Ellana could only imagine how he would feel about being considered a guardian of fertility rites.

The lecture by famed herbalist Ines Arancia was actually informative, as it focused on analyzing the type of tea left on the altars and examining Dalish tea blends in general. The tea Ellana had used was a Dalish herbal blend that her Keeper had sent her, common enough in the Free Marches, but it had now been given the official-sounding name of _Camellia Solanensis_. Its calming ingredients were touted as a means of opening oneself to the Fade, and the berries that were added for flavor had been identified as a mild aphrodisiac. She wondered what meaning would have been assigned to the strong black tea she drank herself on the pilgrimage. From the sounds of the “scholarship” so far, it might have been mistaken for a stamina enhancer used in late-night orgies. 

Another wildly off-base perspective was offered by Sister Dorcas Guerrin: “We must consider what the Dread Wolf means to the Dalish. He has always been a deity to be feared, hailed as a trickster, responsible for the demise of their pantheon. He is also recognized as the god of nightmares and misfortune. In every instance, he is cruel, evil, untrustworthy. The Dalish place his image at the edge of their camps to frighten away evil spirits. Offerings left at his altars are meant to placate him and ward away his ill-will. Consider the nature of the offerings that were found on the altars: tea, but a calming blend, inedible wafers, and phallic imagery painted everywhere. I would speculate that the Dalish are now suffering either a loss of fertility or perhaps an outbreak of venereal disease. The offerings are symbols of impotence, meant to turn the Dread Wolf’s gaze away from the Dalish and end their affliction.”

The scholar who called herself (Formerly) Sister Laudine had her own absurd take on the subject. “The discussion thus far has focused on determining what role the Dread Wolf plays in the elven pantheon in connection to the goddess Mythal. I would propose that my fellow Chantry scholars are looking at this controversy in all the wrong ways. Is not the simplest explanation that Fen’Harel and Mythal are in fact the same deity? Why not consider that Mythal might be the name of the womanly form of a werewolf deity? Stories from olden times taught that werewolves were men and women who took lupine form under the full moon’s light. Mayhap the elves believed such stories. Mythal is considered the goddess of the moon. The symbolism is easy to see: under the moon’s sacred light, the All-Mother is transformed to the wanton wolf. If the moon called her worshipers to their sacred couplings, might not it work its changes on their goddess? Later separation of the two suggests that the elves became more informed—” At this point, Laudine was escorted from the podium. Another Chantry sister assumed her place at the lectern.

“Children of the Maker, we beseech your forgiveness. There has been a mistake with concern to the schedule of speakers. The last person you heard from is a vile pretender who invokes the name of Andraste to promote hideous blasphemies. Please strike her words from your notes. She was not meant to have been present at this summit and so has been escorted from the grounds in disgrace.”

Ellana shook her head. It was ridiculous that she couldn’t tell the difference between approved Chantry scholarship and whatever it was they considered blasphemy. She supposed there must be books to explain the difference between the two.

The final scholar, Brother Burbadur, was by far the silliest. The man looked like he had spent most of his life in some mountainside hermitage, living on deep mushrooms. The hair around his tonsure stood out as if he had been struck by lightning. His ideas were no less wild. “It has become quite clear in my examination of ancient elven ruins that the elves of Arlathan and the Moon People were one and the same, ruled over by the lizard-like Snake-Kings depicted in the Dales. That is, until their uprising led by the king Fen’Harel, who took the shape of a wolf. With the increase of offerings being made to the Dread Wolf (an epithet bestowed by the Snake-Kings, who feared the elven leader), the Dalish are recovering some of the ancient practices so long neglected. This may indicate that the Snake-Kings, the prehistoric enemies of elvenkind, are stirring once more in the shadows. Perhaps the elves mean to reclaim their former country on the moon and reestablish the worship of Fen’Harel after once again conquering their old enemies. Clearly, the offerings which my colleagues have misinterpreted as heathen sacrifices are in fact rudimentary attempts at creating fuel for the vessel that will carry the Dalish back to their lunar homeland. There has been much speculation on why the supposed cakes are inedible. This is merely due to the fact that they are not intended for elven consumption. They are meant to power the great sky-ship, perhaps named Fen’Harel, currently being constructed in secret. The so-called ‘phallic symbols’ discovered on the altars to the Dread Wolf are, in fact, depictions of this vessel.”

At this point, Ellana hastily excused herself before her wheezing caused her to choke. She knew now why so many of the oldest members of Clan Lavellan had such a low opinion of shem scholarship. The Chantry “scholars” had shown such a profound lack of knowledge of even the basic tenets of Dalish life and had put forth so many ludicrous assumptions about elven culture that she wondered if any of the speakers had ever even held a conversation with an elf.

Still, Ellana found that the Chantry’s laughable display of ignorance could work out in her favor, and she was pleased to find that she could purchase copies of the writings on the cult at the end of the lectures. She also discovered a table half-concealed by a curtain, tucked into an alcove, that sold complete copies of (Formerly) Sister Laudine’s pamphlet about the cult. In the end, Ellana bought three copies of each of the books. One set for the Skyhold library, one to send to Dorian in Tevinter, and another that would serve a special purpose in her plans.

That evening, Ellana got in contact with Dorian via the crystal he had given her and told him about the lectures.

“It sounds as if we’ve disrupted all of Thedas, my dear!” Dorian said proudly. “Who knew we three conspirators wielded so much power?”

He surprised her then with a revelation: “You should know that our little prank hasn’t stopped at Ferelden and Orlais. Some of the magisters have been discussing it. The Black Divine doesn’t know what to make of your Chantry scholars’ writings on the subject.”

Ellana laughed heartily. “How did we manage to make such a stir without even trying?”

“With your god-slaying exploits and my dashing good looks, how could we not make a stir?”

Now there was only the matter of Divine Victoria to take care of. Ellana hoped Leliana didn’t take the news of the pranks too badly. Otherwise, her campaign against Solas might come to a premature end. Unfortunately, she had been informed that the Divine would be away for several more days. Ellana was not looking forward to waiting in Orlais.

* * *

Solas was used to playing the long game. He knew how to wait, while things looked ugly and others doubted, and then to turn the tide. It was his favorite strategy in chess as well as life, and he always relished the look on an opponent’s face when they realized he had caught them in his trap. This would be one of those occasions where the opposition watched as he stole victory from under their noses.

There was to be an auction in Llomerryn, that infamous island full of pirates and smugglers off the coast of Rivain. An auspicious event, spoken of only by the elite of Thedas. Magical artifacts from every country on the map were rumored to be up for sale. For those fortunate enough to secure an invitation, it was an opportunity to obtain all sorts of prizes. For Solas, it was the ideal time to step into the public eye again. His appearances had been rare since the Exalted Council, but this was the perfect opportunity to remind his opponents that Fen’Harel was still working against them.

Months of preparation had gone into this night: determining the guest list, planting his agents among the serving staff, smuggling the eluvian into the hall. It had to be perfect, for this was the next step to the triumph of his cause. His forces had been tracking the red lyrium idol through every change of hands from the time it left Kirkwall. And now he would claim it under the watching eyes of all of Thedas.

Solas stood in the crossroads, waiting for his agents’ signal. He adjusted the wolf pelt on his shoulder. These days, he was unused to wearing armor. Most of his days were spent in the shadows and clanking metal was not exactly suitable for stealth. But, as on the day of the Exalted Council, he had an image to maintain. And everyone knew about the elf in golden armor.

The eluvian to his left opened and his agent, dressed in the flour-covered clothing of a kitchen worker, nodded to him. “It’s time, my lord,” she said.

Steadying himself, he reached out and activated the eluvian in front of him. The sensation of passing through a waterfall, and then. . . .The room was dazzling, the elite of Thedas gathered for the most private party. Every faction was represented, with the Ben-Hassrath spies watching from the corners, Divine Victoria serving as the eyes and ears of the Chantry, Nevarran Mortalitasi beside Tevinter magisters. Antivan Crows and Rivani pirates mingling with nobles from Orlais, Ferelden, and Orzammar. But not a single elf was attending. As Solas well knew, his people were relegated to the serving staff. All the better to show the world how the elves felt about their subjugation.

The active eluvian had captured everyone’s gaze. Its light was startling in the dimly lit hall. Without a word, Solas crossed the room. The guests shrank away from where he walked. No one dared raise a hand against him as he plucked the red lyrium idol from the table where it had been displayed. The crowd was ablaze with whispers. Solas caught a few gasps of, “Is that the Wolf?” He was glad of their surprise. It meant his maneuver had been unexpected. With his prize in hand, the Dread Wolf returned through the eluvian.

Back at his base, Solas was finally able to relax. There had been no need for the assassins he had positioned throughout the party, ready to strike down anyone who threatened to stop him. And now, the whole world would know he was one step away from tearing down the Veil.

It was a relief to Solas that returning home triumphant was becoming a regular occurrence. During his time with the Inquisition, he had started to wonder if the Dalish were right in associating Fen’Harel with bad luck. Now, his forces had cause for celebration.

He sat down to examine his prize. Those who had encountered the artifact before had seen it as merely an idol. A base formed of red lyrium, crowned with two figures that were seen alternately as two lovers or a god mourning her sacrifice. Out of all those who had held the idol, the Tevinter blood mage who had used it as a ritual knife had come closest to recognizing what it was. Out of all those living in Thedas, only Solas knew the idol was the hilt of a sword. He himself, guided by Mythal, had shaped the weapon from the lyrium blood of the titan chained beneath Arlathan. Only a lyrium blade could give a mere Seneschal, ignorant of the secrets of the Evanuris, the power to kill a titan.

He had served Mythal for decades, perhaps centuries. Time had passed differently in Arlathan. She had made him her Seneschal and trusted him as one of her nearest friends. The day came that she had mentioned the highest honor that could be bestowed on a friend or servant of the Evanuris. She wanted to make Solas one of them. He had more than proven himself through all the years at her side. Mythal had pointed to Andruil’s recent elevation of her lover, Ghilan’nain, to the rank of Evanuris. “You are far better suited to be one of us than she will ever be,” Mythal claimed.

Ghilan’nain’s ascension had followed a truly terrible series of events for Solas. A young woman, unknown to most anyone, had discovered a means of using powerful magic to create creatures never seen before in the world. The beasts were monstrous creations that wrought terror amongst the People. Andruil had set a hunt, pleased to see such bloodthirsty monsters let loose in _elvhenan_. For an entire year, Andruil and her slaves pursued the monsters Ghilan’nain had wrought. So many lives were lost for Andruil’s sport. Solas had seen the bloodshed and had sought to end it. He outstripped Andruil’s search and discovered the woman who had made the hideous creatures. He begged her to cease her work, but she pleaded that she loved the ill-fated things she had made. At last, the Lady of the Hunt discovered Ghilan’nain, Mother of Monsters, hidden away in a secret place. Andruil had made a bargain with the mysterious woman: if she would destroy her workings, she might be raised up among the Evanuris. Ghilan’nain could not bear to think of breaking her accursed beasts, so she went to Solas in secret and asked for counsel. Seeing no other way, he suggested she preserve the creatures she had placed in the depths of the sea, far from where they could harm anyone. And so she had become the youngest of the Evanuris and the lover of Andruil.

Afterward, there was unrest in Arlathan. A rebel whom the Evanuris had dubbed Fen’Harel, the Dread Wolf, had stirred the slaves to rebel against their masters. Mythal’s indulgent treatment of her slaves was seen as one of the contributing factors. Whispers ran that perhaps the other Evanuris no longer trusted her. And now with Ghilan’nain’s addition to the ranks of the Evanuris, Mythal feared they were ready to turn against her. She needed a powerful ally at her side, and who better than her trusted Seneschal?

The sword hilt’s design was a whim of Mythal’s. She wanted to be depicted as a great warrior queen, with her Seneschal pleading for her favor. If the other Evanuris believed that Solas had sought the position among them, they would be more likely to turn their resentment against him instead of his lady.

The sword in hand, the two of them had gone to the Deep Roads. It was a long and bloody battle, but they had at last claimed the titan’s heart that had become his focus. Thus Solas had become one of the Evanuris. And with his elevation to near godhood, he had begun his rebellion in earnest. With the ultimate sign of his lady’s favor in his hands, he had set the pieces into motion to betray her and all her kind.

Now the sword, like all of the lyrium from Arlathan, had become corrupted. He would have to seal it away so that it did not drive the unwary to madness. But with Solas’s focus lost, only this weapon was powerful enough to bring down the titan king who lay chained beneath the Black City and cut out his heart. Solas was thankful that at long last, his plans were succeeding. Now it only remained to find the _Arlathvhen_ , the record of the Evanuris’ magic, and learn the ritual that would forge the titan’s heart into the focus that would change the world.

Solas stood and made his way back to the Crossroads. It was time to take the sword to Tevinter.

Abelas greeted him as soon as he returned to the forest base. “I see you were successful.”

Solas held up the idol. “Indeed. Did you doubt that our plans were thorough enough?”

“Always. What surprises me is your unshakable confidence. Especially in the face of all the setbacks two years ago.”

“I have not forgotten my failures with the Inquisition. But that is behind us. Now we have come nearly to our victory.”

“There are still many things to be done to prepare for that, sir. The Inquisitor is still out there. We have had no rumors of her movements yet, which is troubling on its own. Then there is the matter of Briala, who has managed to elude us ever since her escape. And lastly, we still need to locate the _Arlathvhen_. Without it, we have no hope of completing the ritual.”

Solas sighed. “Can you not relish our victory for even a moment?”

“I am merely focused on the future, my lord.”

“What would be your recommendation, general?”

“There are rumors of a meeting in Hunter Fell, my lord. Members of several factions will be there to discuss the movements of the red lyrium idol. The Inquisition is sending an agent. We should, too. It’s the best way to find out what they know. It is possible they may also drop a hint as to the Inquisitor’s location, as well.”

“A secret meeting in Hunter Fell? I will go myself.”

“Is that wise, my lord?”

“I can turn people to stone with a glance, Abelas. Do you really fear for my safety?”

“No, sir.”

“I will be disguised, anyway. If anything goes wrong, they will not have time to recognize me before they are eliminated.”

* * *

Ellana was thoroughly sick of Val Royeaux. Unfortunately, she could not leave before her next important visit. The Divine wanted an explanation for why all of the Chantry’s foremost scholars were in an uproar over the heretical murmurings among the Dalish. And Ellana knew this was one explanation that would have to be made to Leliana’s face. Now, looking up at the magnificent edifice that was the Grand Cathedral, the Inquisitor wondered exactly how severe the repercussions for stirring up the Chantry might be, however accidental the action had been. 

Before she spoke to Leliana, Ellana was meeting with another of the Chantry’s high-ranking officials. She was ushered into an ornate chamber, where a woman sat behind an enormous desk. Unlike most members of the Chantry, this woman was clad in heavy armor. The Right Hand of the Divine looked up from her paperwork and smiled at Ellana.

“Hello, Cass,” Ellana said, rounding the desk to sweep Cassandra into a hug.

Cassandra squeezed the much-slighter Dalish elf, and Ellana was happily reminded that her friend could snap most people in two like twigs. “It is so good to see you, Ellana!” Cassandra exclaimed, her thick Nevarran accent even stronger as a result of her excitement. “Even when circumstances seem dire.”

Ellana released Cassandra and took the empty seat on the other side of the desk. “You’re concerned about the new cult in the Dales?” she said.

“Yes. What do you know about it?”

Ellana couldn’t keep the guilty look off her face. “Funny story,” she began.

“What.” Cassandra said, in the tone of complete disbelief that she usually reserved for Varric. “Please tell me you had nothing to do with this.”

Ellana hid her face in her hands, an act that always felt a little strange with her ironbark arm. “Not just me. Sera and Dorian helped.”

In the same aggravated-nursemaid tone, Cassandra scolded, “Don’t try to pass the blame to anyone else. I want the whole story.”

Ellana uncovered her face. “It started with Dorian’s suggestion,” she began, and then recounted the entire tale of how they had unwittingly created a supposed Dalish fertility cult.

By the end of the story, Cassandra looked like a warrior-queen about to dole out death sentences to deserters. Ellana ended lamely, “So that’s how it happened. It wasn’t intentional; it just got out of hand.”

Cassandra sat, glaring at Ellana like a storm cloud. Then she opened her mouth and laughed. Several minutes passed before Cass wiped tears from her eyes, then composed herself. “I had spent days worrying that the Dalish had begun to worship Fen’Harel in earnest and would flock to Solas’s cause. Now I find out that it was simply a misinterpreted prank. You cannot imagine how relieved I am.”

Ellana let out her breath in relief. “Then it will be alright?”

“See what Leliana has to say. You have made fools of the greatest scholars in the Chantry, Ellana. But the situation is far less troubling than I had believed. Now you must speak with Leliana. She will have news for you.” 

Cassandra herself walked Ellana to the Divine’s office. Ellana was surprised to find that this room was smaller and more meekly furnished than the one in which Cassandra worked. Leliana rose from behind her desk as Ellana walked in.

“Inquisitor.” Leliana’s smile was encouraging, at least.

“Divine Victoria.” Ellana had no idea how to begin this explanation.

“About the Dales,” Leliana said.

“It was— ” Ellana started.

“My agents recognized Sera’s handiwork,” Leliana said at the same time.

Ellana’s heart dropped to her boots. “Ah. Then you know what we did.”

Leliana’s gaze was sharp as the daggers Ellana was sure she wore under her vestments. “I knew the moment they told me there were cups of tea on the altars.”

Something occurred to Ellana. “But if you knew it was us, why didn’t you tell the scholars?”

“Because it’s hilarious.”

At first, Ellana wasn’t sure Leliana meant it, as she still wore the same steel-eyed expression.

But Leliana continued, “The scholars wouldn’t stop pestering me once I was confirmed. They spent two years trying to corner me for insider information. They all wanted to know about Justinia, about the Inquisition, what was the Inquisitor like, how did we close the Breach, you’ve heard the way they talk. If I spoke to one, they acted as if they were the Divine’s favorite. When I heard about the Dales, I sent them out there to get them to give me a rest. As usual, it seems they exaggerated everything there beyond recognition.”

Ellana grimaced. “I’m not sure most of them know anything about elves. It’s no wonder so many people think the elves are backward, with ignorant people writing all of the books about us.”

Leliana nodded. “That is another thing we will work to remedy when Solas is defeated.” 

“I have myself to blame for this set of ridiculous assumptions about the Dalish, but at least we can use this. If the elves Solas is trying to recruit are led to think of him as a fertility god, he will either become a laughingstock or be viewed as an ancient deity with no power over the present world.”

“I agree. The influence of your prank has been widespread, benefitting us both among Chantry followers and the Dalish.”

“I can hardly believe something so simple could have such an impact, especially without us meaning to change anything.”

“If used effectively, a bee sting can bring down a dragon, as I’m sure our friend Red Jenny would tell you. But to other matters. I must apologize for keeping you waiting. I wanted someone I could trust to hear out the Chantry scholars and see what nonsense they had written about your prank. But I was away at the time. There was an auction in Llomerryn, one that included the idol from Kirkwall. The very first piece of red lyrium we knew of. I wanted to be there, to secure the idol for our cause. But an old friend of ours claimed it first.”

Ellana almost asked for confirmation, but she already knew who it was. “You’ve seen Solas, then.”

“Indeed. He came through an eluvian planted in the hall and walked out with the idol.”

“That sounds like Solas.”

“He wanted us to see him. He’s taunting us, Ellana. I only wish we knew more. All I can tell you is that Solas is growing bolder and the idol is vital to whatever he is planning.”

“Then we need to move faster.”

“So it seems. Have you learned anything from the College of Enchanters?”

“No. But I’ve been working on something that may help us.” Ellana explained the dream magic ritual she and Merrill had been rehearsing.

“Dalish dream magic, then? Solas would not like that. He is set on the Dalish being too backward to stop him. It is an interesting angle.” She paused thoughtfully. “Will you kill Solas when you can reach him in the Fade?”

Ellana felt the impact of the words in her gut. The truth was, she had wondered the same thing, and the result had been a resounding _no_. But what choice did she have? Only her own flailing attempts to trip him up at every turn? She answered honestly, “I don’t know what to say. If a mage dies in the Fade, they are made Tranquil, but they will not die. It would be worse than death for Solas.”

“You must think this through, Ellana. Sometimes mercy is not an option. What if it is our only hope of stopping him?”

“Then I will do what I must, but—” her breath caught on a sob.

“Sometimes we cannot spare those we love. I pity you, Inquisitor, but I beg you not to falter.”

Ellana wondered if Leliana was thinking of Warden Mahariel, who had fallen to the Archdemon to end the Fifth Blight.

“What about your agents? Have they had any luck in finding him?”

“We have had some near misses. Bases raided just after they were abandoned. Once, the embers were still burning on the kitchen hearth. With the eluvians, his forces move too quickly for us.”

“I will keep working. I have two allies with me now.”

“Only two?”

“We’ve scaled back, remember? And they’re both pretty formidable. Just keep thinking about that bee sting.”

Leliana laughed. “Let’s hope this bee can bring down a wolf. Maker go with you, Ellana.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to operativelm for the chapter's opening quote and for brainstorming the ideas for the Chantry lectures with me.


	4. The Bard and the Bees

" _. . . some scholars, per Genitivi, see the symbols as proof that the sect was a wide-spread fertility cult. Fen'Harel, in this instance, is_ [redacted] _of the People, bringing_ [redacted] _turn away from his name. Regrettably, even the great scholars of the Chantry have no real idea of the rituals and purpose of the cult, and those that believe that they do are merely throwing theories at the walls. Fen'Harel himself would not have_ [redacted] _if_ [redacted]." _  
  
_\- _Growing Dissent and Bountiful Mercies: An Examination of Current Cult of Fen'Harel Studies_ , Sister Petrine [excerpt] [redacted]

Solas stepped through the eluvian that led to one of his Nevarran outposts. He dumped the Orlesian mask and wig on his desk and sat down. The meeting in Hunter Fell had been a bit of a disaster. He should have listened to Abelas’ counsel; it turned out that disguising himself as his polar opposite only made him more transparent. He should have known better than to order tea. He should have realized it was completely idiotic to underestimate the foremost of Leliana’s agents. All he could think of was Charter’s tense, steady voice. “I ask for my life,” she had said, more than once. She had not seemed afraid, but Solas recognized all the signs of a carefully schooled agent masking pure terror.

It was one thing to inspire such fear in foolish mages who bound spirits on a whim or smugglers who thought red lyrium was just another commodity. But to see a woman he had once fought alongside begging him to spare her life? He felt sick.

He had met Charter only a few times and doubted she remembered him beyond glimpses of the elven apostate by Lavellan’s side. But he still remembered one occasion in the Western Approach, when a Tevinter merchant arrived at Griffon Wing Keep. The man spoke three sentences before he fell dead, one of Charter’s daggers lodged in his throat. Scout Harding had argued with Charter about how hastily she had killed the man. 

Charter simply explained, “He was Venatori. Plain as day. His accent was too crisp for a merchant; he’s used to enunciating spells. And his sleeve slipped: he has blood magic scars on his arms.”

When they searched the man’s belongings, they discovered his staff and a Venatori spell tome. Even Solas had not seen the man’s tells.

Since then, Solas had harbored a healthy respect for Charter. He had even tried on several occasions to see if she could be persuaded to join his cause. But she remained unshakably loyal to the Inquisition, much to Solas’s disappointment. He had heard tales of the Black Hart and recognized in each iteration the same cunning elf woman he had met with the Inquisition. It surprised him endlessly how loyal Ellana’s followers had proven. Despite the tight hand of the Chantry clasping the Inquisition’s reins, Ellana had still managed to create a safehaven for those the rest of the world would likely reject. It had started with offering a full alliance to the rebel mages and had led to increased trade and diplomacy with the Dalish and making an elf co-ruler of Orlais. As a result, members of the Inquisition had proven impossible to recruit. The thought nagged at him that his followers were only those who had nowhere else to go: the Sentinels of Mythal, lost in time; the Dalish and city elves who could no longer stand their oppression; Briala, whose stake in the Orlesian throne had been gradually stolen from her. He wondered if the rest would flee like Briala if given the chance.

The Hunter Fell meeting was meant to have been easy: five Inquisition contacts sharing what they knew of the Dread Wolf. Solas had carefully arranged for the Inquisition to make contact with a nameless Orlesian bard who could describe the events of the auction in Llomerryn. Once they had accepted the lead, Solas knew he had the perfect opportunity to discover exactly how much the Inquisition knew about his plans. All he had to do was disguise himself, hear what they had to say, turn them to stone, and leave.

Instead, he found himself slinking back to safety, grateful that Charter hadn’t risked an attempt on his life. He could have turned Charter to stone, yes, but she also could have had a dagger in his chest before he knew to try. As frightened as she had been, Solas was certain she had no idea that she had held the trump card: as long as he believed she did not know him, Charter had him off-guard. Despite the success of his mission, he felt as though he had lost.

Solas changed back into his spymaster’s fatigues and took a moment to breathe before returning to Tevinter. He was not looking forward to briefing Abelas.

Apparently, Solas didn’t even need to speak for Abelas to tell things had gone wrong. His general took one look at his defeated posture and said, “I take it the Inquisition figured out your little puzzle?”

Solas struggled not to roll his eyes. “I had hoped you would prove more mature about this.”

“I told you it was a bad idea to go yourself and you ignored me. You insisted that dressing like an Orlesian peacock would be sufficient to conceal your identity. What gave you away?”

“The tea,” Solas said through his teeth.

“I suppose saying ‘I told you so’ would be a bit much.”

“I find it fascinating that you reserve your gloating for my failures, rather than those of our enemies.”

“Only because yours are significantly more entertaining.”

“Why don’t you go pester someone else?”

“I’m supposed to be receiving your report about Hunter Fell to pass on to your followers, since you refuse to address them yourself.”

“The meeting was a failure. The Black Hart was in attendance and she guessed my identity. Will that suffice?”

“Is that really what you want me to say?”

“Tell them the Inquisition is still ignorant of most of our plans. That will do, general.”

Once Abelas was gone, Solas slumped against his chair. Some days he wished Morrigan had left him to the memory hex. He felt tired down to his bones. Within minutes, he was asleep, welcoming the Fade’s embrace, thankful for what comfort he could draw from a few minutes’ rest. At least in the Fade, there was no one to trouble him with reminders of his failures.

* * *

With the Divine’s meeting behind her, Ellana was quick to return to Kirkwall. Returning to weeks on the road was no pleasure, but she could not wait to escape Val Royeaux. Although her Hightown mansion would never feel like home, it was a relief to be back in the Free Marches and away from the pretension of Orlais.

Unsurprisingly, once the Chantry scholars had begun to discuss it, the Cult of Fen’Harel began to take on a life of its own. Ellana received a letter from Keeper Istimaethoriel wondering at the strange rituals that were apparently being practiced at the altars to Fen’Harel. Just as a cult had sprung up to worship the Fade rifts two years earlier, it seemed some of the Dalish had actually begun to practice fertility rites associated with the Dread Wolf.

Mae, Ellana’s grandmother, had been Keeper of Clan Lavellan for nearly five decades. The years had honed her instincts to the point that she could typically sense trouble stirring in the clan before anyone mentioned it. As usual, she was not far off in her guesses about what had caused the youngsters’ behavior. “ _Not that I’ve seen any of the ‘rites’ myself—nor do I want to,_ ” she wrote, “ _but I’ve heard that some of the young people are building bonfires in front of the Dread Wolf statues and having orgies on wolf pelts. Apparently, it was all brought on by signs they claim to have seen at the shrines. I went out to look and saw that someone had painted penises all over the shrines to Fen’Harel and several of the wolf statues. It looked to me like someone’s petty revenge against the Dread Wolf. I would guess it’s because of the disappearances. Every clan I’ve heard from has lost a few people. Some who stayed said they had been approached by Fen’Harel in their dreams. I would guess the graffiti and the offerings are the work of a family member who’s mad about losing someone to the Dread Wolf. But you know there are always young people who’ll use any excuse for an orgy. They’re also mixing tea with some of the ‘good’ herbs and getting high off their asses. The clan has had the worst time trying to keep them from stealing the smaller Dread Wolf statues around the camp. I don’t blame anyone for painting the statues, as I’ve been angry myself at this person calling himself Fen’Harel. I likely would’ve done the same in my days before I became Keeper, but I do worry what kind of influence it will have on the rituals of Fen’Harel as a whole. I’m not personally afraid of the old toothless wolf, but I do hate to see traditions get all mixed up like this. Do you know what might have caused this nonsense? All my love, Mae.”_

For a moment, Ellana wondered what she had done. It was one thing to have Chantry scholars speculating that the Dalish were worshiping Fen’Harel as a fertility god. It was another to find out the scholars were right, all because of her silly revenge. Then she reminded herself that Solas was threatening the entire world. Mae was right: there were always a few teenagers who wanted to get high and have orgies. Just because they now considered it a means of worshiping Fen’Harel hardly made things different. And the least it could do was rattle Solas’s confidence in his fearful reputation. But she did need to write to her Keeper. She had a lot of explaining to do.

The coming weeks brought even more letters, and the cult’s influence continued to surprise Ellana. She had been flooded with correspondence from her friends in the past week, all of which was routed through Varric. Vivienne’s communiqué had been the first to arrive and Varric had been almost gleeful when he handed it to Ellana. From the sounds of Madame de Fer’s letter, the cult’s influence on Val Royeaux had not ended with the Chantry lectures.

“ _My Dear Inquisitor,_ ” it said, “ _It has come to my attention that a number of the young, impressionable nobles in the courts of Orlais have begun to wear the most appalling fashions. I know, darling, that it has been the custom in recent months to adopt a sort of modified Dalish dress in imitation of the Blessed Herald of Andraste, a trend against which I have been vocally opposed. But these latest styles are said to be associated with some type of Cult of Fen’Harel. Phallus hats, darling. Based on paintings found in the Dales! Can you imagine? As if the facial tattoos and the twine sandals were not bad enough. These buffoons think they can put on your culture like choosing a new set of feathers for their masks. If these recent fashions are associated with Fen’Harel, I thought perhaps they were an outgrowth of your unfortunate attachment to Solas. Please be a dear and demystify these baffling developments if you can. Yours, Grand Enchanter Vivienne de Fer._ ”

Despite spending most of her time in hiding, Ellana had not been spared the sight of the pseudo-Dalish fashions now popular in Val Royeaux. Vivienne was right: the trends were terrible. Even though the members of the Orlesian nobility had labeled Ellana herself a “Dalish savage” during her visit to the imperial ball at Halamshiral two years ago, they had now taken to creating fashions supposedly inspired by the Herald’s Dalish heritage.

These trends had included false _vallaslin_ , worn in place of a mask, most of which was temporary, but a few members of the nobility had actually tattooed themselves. There were also sandals that consisted only of twine and beads, ridiculous flower crowns, halla imagery on everything, and miniature aravels used for driving around Val Royeaux. Vivienne had spent months campaigning to eradicate the racist fashions, to no avail. Now it seemed the situation had only been aggravated by the Chantry summit.

The letter reminded Ellana of something that had been nagging at her. “Varric,” she said.

He looked up from his writing desk. “Something the matter, Inquisitor?”

“Only curiosity,” she said. “You seemed particularly intent on me seeing this letter first, even though I have several others. Why?”

“Did you not want to be regaled with tales of Val Royeaux by the illustrious Madame de Fer?”

Ellana glared at him. “You’re up to something.”

“What did our favorite fashion icon have to say?” Varric asked innocently.

She raised an eyebrow. “What an interesting choice of words. She’s actually complaining about current fashions in Orlais.”

“Is the Iron Lady not intent on wearing halla horns?”

Ellana fought to keep a straight face. “Didn’t I see several letters from Orlesian hat shops addressed to you recently?”

Varric smiled. “Yeah. I sent some presents to the kid. You know him and hats.”

Ellana felt a pang when she realized how rarely she heard from Cole. She had gotten so used to being able to walk to the Herald’s Rest and talk to him whenever she wanted. But she dragged her thoughts back to the present when she realized what Varric was doing. “Stop distracting me,” she said. “You know what Vivienne was complaining about, don’t you?”

Varric threw up his hands. “Shitty Orlesian fashions? Isn’t that par for the course with her?”

“You commissioned those hats, didn’t you?”

A sneaky grin stole onto Varric’s face. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“What made you think to do it?”

Varric leaned back in his chair, propping his feet on his desk. “Well, I couldn’t let you and Sparkler and Buttercup have all the fun. Especially when the Chantry got in on the cult nonsense. So I thought I’d stir the pot a bit, you know? Aggravate Chuckles a little more. They’ll buy anything in Val Royeaux.” He smirked. “Orlais is full of dickheads anyway. I just thought I’d make it more literal.”

* * *

As much as Solas hated to admit it, his forces were suffering from the loss of Briala. They had still made no headway in locating her, a fact that had ceased to surprise him. With his luck, she was probably with Ellana, wherever Lavellan had hidden herself. He had discovered in Briala’s absence that she had been an essential part of training his agents to use the eluvians and had singlehandedly coordinated more raids to acquire artifacts than any other ally. Solas only hoped that he could remedy the situation before the issue became too obvious.

He needed another spymaster, but finding a good one was proving nearly impossible. He had almost given up when Abelas arrived with an intriguing report.

“Sir, our allies raided the house yesterday. In the Duke’s absence, the artifact was taken from his vault, and the furniture in his office was attached to the ceiling.”

“How strange. Is there any sign of who was responsible?”

“There was a red cotton handkerchief left in the Duke’s chair. It was the only piece of furniture not on the ceiling.”

Solas took the detail and stowed it away to be examined later. He was too distracted to puzzle out the meaning immediately.

Six days later, the red handkerchief became relevant once more, as the Agents of Fen’Harel once again arrived to a site that had already been plundered. Their goal had been to steal some intercepted correspondence from agents of the Inquisition. Instead, they found the estate’s steward tied to a chair in his study, sans pants, gagged with another red handkerchief.

It was the noble’s lack of trousers that made Solas remember. That dark night more than two years ago, a lightning-quick young elf woman in homespun cackling at her cleverness, “They’ve got no breeches!”

Red Jenny was the one thwarting his plans. Solas considered his options and ruled that the riskiest one was the one most likely to benefit him. He wrote a note to Sera. He knew that trying to recruit her in dreams would likely result in his premature death, so a direct approach was the only option.

“ _The Dread Wolf requests a meeting with Red Jenny. Alone. Sera, please come to the garden of the Bellemonde Estate on Wednesday night, 9 o’clock. –Solas.”_

The night came and went and he returned to his base, cranky at having been stood up, especially since he had spent three hot hours out in the Orlais weather. He arrived to several equally cranky agents, who reported yet another loss to Red Jenny. This time, the handkerchief was embroidered with crooked letters, spelling, “STUFF IT, SOLAS.” It had been expertly pinned to a wall with an arrow through the O. The next day, his agents discovered a note on the fountain in the Bellemonde garden. There was no text, only a crude depiction of Sera throwing a bee grenade at a wolf.

Solas sighed. This was already proving more annoying than he had expected. He sent another note: _“The Dread Wolf promises cookies to Red Jenny if she will meet Friday night, same time and location.”_

The results were mostly the same. Solas was starting to regret pursuing an alliance, and Abelas was questioning everything about the idea. “I promise you, she’s worth it,” Solas told his general. “She’s just a bit difficult to handle.”

“I surmised as much,” Abelas said, looking warily at the latest sketch of Sera shooting flaming arrows at a wolf whose tail was on fire. “Are you entirely certain she won’t try to murder you?”

“Of course,” Solas lied.

He tried one last time. This time, he had only been seated on the fountain’s edge for a few minutes when a figure in a red tunic and plaidweave leggings stomped from the shadows. She brushed her ragged blonde hair out of her eyes.

Solas scrambled to his feet. “Welcome, Sera, I feared you would refuse to meet me again.”

Sera blew a loud raspberry. “Like piss I would! Can’t get any peace from your lot. You just won’t listen!” She sat down heavily on the fountain’s edge, her arms laced tight across her chest.

“Sera, I’ve come to offer an alliance between my forces and the Jennies. I have seen your work, and it is impressive. In fact, your agents have been snatching artifacts more effectively than mine. My army is in need of a spymaster. What would persuade you to join my cause?”

Sera cocked her head and stared at him. “Are you for real? Like, are you _you?_ Or do you have some demons buzzin’ around in your head that I can blame for this?”

“I am completely sane. And entirely serious. Are you certain that the plight of our people does not concern you at all?”

Sera made a face. “Don’t want none of your elven glory shite. Did you forget, my people are the _friends_ of Red Jenny? Ellana’s my friend, and you hurt her. My people look out for each other, don’t team up with nobs who hurt us. Besides, it’s all stupid. Your magic and ancient rot, you’ll just burn the world down to get what you want. Couldn’t _make_ me be part of that.”

“Please, Sera, think of what you could be, what you could do.”

“I could be dead, workin’ for you! Can’t you hear my no? Let me say it louder for you: _NO_.”

“Don’t you see that the elves are just the type of people you claim you want to help? The little people you fight for could finally have something of their own, instead of being relegated to the dregs of society.”

That seemed to set Sera off. She was on her feet and in his face in seconds. “Solas, you nug-sucking, piss-brained, moldy-arsed wanker! Don’t talk to me about little people! I’ve seen your altars and shite, you think you’re some mercy-giving god? Fuck you! You never see anybody ‘cept your elfy elves! You don’t give a shit for anybody but _your_ people!”

Her tirade went on for several minutes. Solas remained as still as stone while she harangued him. Truthfully, he feared for his life. He had seen what a powerhouse Sera was on the battlefield. He was only grateful she was too close to shoot him. When she seemed to be winding down, he opened his mouth to speak again.

She stuck a finger in his face. “No!”

He gently pushed her hand away, then tried to speak again.

She repeated the gesture. “No! I’m leaving, and my lot had better not hear a peep outta yours!”

Sera started walking away. Solas took a step in her direction, one last futile attempt to persuade her, and was hit in the chest with a jar of bees.

When Solas returned to Tevinter, covered from crown to toes in bee stings, Abelas shook his head and simply said, “I warned you she was out for blood. Now get to the healers. You look terrible.” 

* * *

Her friends had missed her in her absence, but Ellana found that Merrill had been just as dedicated to learning the ritual as before she left. Briala had even consented to being the one sent into the Fade so that Merrill could practice, but she was more than happy to concede that place to Ellana.

Merrill and Ellana picked up their training within days and Ellana found that the intervening weeks had made an enormous difference in Merrill’s control of the spell. No longer did her friend stumble and falter over the words of the spell, nor did her grip on the Fade slip. Ellana wondered how much of this was to do with Briala’s participation, because she found that Briala was very patient and encouraging with Merrill. According to Varric, the two women had been basically inseparable in Ellana’s absence. But whatever the cause, Ellana could now walk the Fade far more confidently.

It started small, with her being able to move through the entire Hightown mansion without losing control. Within days, she could also roam Varric’s house and make her way up to the Viscount’s Keep. But she still felt no closer to finding Solas.

“How did the ritual work the last time, with your Keeper?” Ellana asked Merrill, a week after her return to Kirkwall.

“Feynriel was lost in a nightmare. Marethari used his home as an anchor to draw him to us so that we could find him in the Fade.”

“That’s what I need to change: I don’t want to bring Solas to me in the Fade; I want to find him.”

Merrill nodded. “What do you know about Solas right now?”

Ellana thought. “I haven’t seen him in months. Leliana told me that he’s starting to taunt the Inquisition, making sure we see every move he makes. But there was a message from Charter when I came back from Val Royeaux. _Solas wanted you to know that he’s sorry_ , was all it said. Oh, and a report from Skyhold said the rotunda where Solas painted his frescoes had been vandalized by a regret demon.”

“Regret? I don’t think that’s a demon, is it?”

“It’s new. Manifested from Solas’s lingering regrets from his Inquisition days.”

“Start there, then.”

“Where?”

“If he’s that remorseful, an emotion that powerful would be like a beacon in the Fade.”

“Let’s try again.”

Ellana braced herself for the cold of the Fade. Once she had entered the trance, she turned her attention away from her immediate surroundings. She closed her eyes and reached out for the feelings of sorrow, of regret, hoping she wouldn’t find herself knee-deep in demons. _There_.

Sadness, weariness, regret, but also honor, a longing for justice, and self-sacrifice. She opened her eyes and saw she had succeeded. She was in a room that looked like the remains of what had once been an elaborate bedchamber. Now the furniture was splintered around the room, bedecked with several decades’ worth of cobwebs. Solas sat on a bedroll at the corner of the room, reading.

“Solas?” she said.

He glanced up at her. “Ellana.”

“It’s been a while since I saw you. Did you get tired of haunting my dreams?”

“It was no longer worth the risk to do so. How are you now haunting mine?”

Ellana smiled. “Turns out, the Dalish have their own methods of Fadewalking.”

Horror slowly dawned on Solas’s face. “Then this isn’t a coincidence. You sought me out.”

“I did, yes.” She crossed the room and seated herself on the floor a little distance from him.

“Why?” he asked, unconsciously shrinking back from her.

“Would you believe me if I said I missed you?” She looked at him through her eyelashes.

He seemed unimpressed. “Not entirely. I would guess you hoped to distract me from my cause.”

“But we all know nothing will sway you from the glorious cause, right?”

Solas sighed. “If you truly care about our people, you should trust me to see this through.”

Ellana let out a bitter laugh. “You want me to trust you? That’s not happening. Disregarding the entire year you spent lying to me, you specifically told me you plan to destroy the world and kill everyone. What’s supposed to be trustworthy about that?”

“At least it was the truth.” He almost sounded ashamed.

She hoped he was, especially since the pain in his voice had nearly wrung tears from her eyes. There was an uncomfortable silence before she said, “I got the message you gave to Charter. You’re sorry? It sounds like you don’t even trust yourself.”

“It was meant to prove how close I am to success.” She could tell he was lying again, too afraid to be vulnerable in front of her.

“Of course,” Ellana said doubtfully. “I’m sure it had nothing to do with how much you hate doing this.”

“My feelings have nothing to do with it. I will save our people, no matter the cost.”

“Have you considered there might be better ways of doing that than your ‘save the world by killing everyone’ idea?”

He looked away. “There is no other way. I told you. That is the way it must be.”

“Maybe if you actually listened—” she started, but he interrupted her.

“Enough, Ellana. Arguing will get us nowhere.”

Ellana was torn between wanting to hold him until the lines of sorrow on his face lay smooth again and wanting to wring his neck for his stubbornness. “Have it your way, then.” A mischievous thought came to her. She scooted over beside him and rested her head on his shoulder. “So, _am_ I distracting you?” She relished the speed at which he shot to his feet, dropping the papers he had been reading.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” she said, leaning over to glance at the papers. “A list of auction houses and booksellers in Antiva?”

Solas scrambled to snatch the papers back. “It is time you were awake,” he said.

Ellana came out of her trance back in Kirkwall, and immediately sprang to her feet. “We did it!” she crowed.

Merrill looked startled. “You found him?”

“Only for a couple of minutes before he woke me up, but yes.”

Briala looked up from her writing. “Did you get any information about his location?”

“It looked like he was camped alone in an abandoned mansion. The ruined furniture was from several different countries, from what I could see. He had a list of Antivan auction houses and booksellers, though.”

Briala nodded. “He’s in one of the hideouts near Rialto. He’ll likely abandon it, now that you’ve seen him there. From there, he’ll probably go to the base in Starkhaven.”

Ellana was puzzled. “How do you know that?”

“I know the paths of the eluvians, Inquisitor.”

“Won’t they have changed them since you’re on the run now?”

“No one knew how much I knew about.”

“Briala, you’re brilliant.” Ellana’s eyes fell on the books she had brought back from Val Royeaux and an idea came to her. “It’s a gamble, but I’m going to try something. If I send something to your agents, would they make sure it gets to Solas?”

* * *

Fen’Harel’s forces had many hideouts throughout Thedas. Some were merely camps established by the Dread Wolf’s spies, who needed the freedom to move quickly and quietly. Then there were safehouses, often the homes or businesses of people sympathetic to the cause. Others were bases, training centers and military establishments, usually set up in ancient ruins, places that were conveniently believed to be haunted. All of the bases were connected by the eluvians. And now there was one camp fewer, as Solas abandoned the crumbling mansion in Antiva in order to flee to the Free Marches. He left the Rialto safehouse, knowing it was compromised, and took shelter in the Starkhaven base.

Losing a camp that only served as shelter from the elements was hardly cause for concern, but Solas would have to relocate the eluvian in Rialto. Not a major setback, but an inconvenience. More troublesome was the fact that Ellana had somehow managed to find him in the Fade. This time, there was no mistaking it. Somehow, Ellana had discovered a way to walk the Fade, even without being a Dreamer herself. He would have to be cautious and make certain his wards held from now on. He had feared his enemies might find another _somniari_ to send after him, but it was much more troubling that he was now dealing with Ellana invading his dreams.

At least some of the bases were already heavily warded. The main base in Arlathan Forest had magical protection that had lasted centuries. Solas hoped that would be enough to keep Ellana out, as it would be disastrous if she found that stronghold. For now, he would have to trust that whatever ill luck had allowed Ellana to find him in Antiva would not guide her to the Free Marches. He was waiting for Abelas to arrive with a report on the Nevarran book market. Solas’s own search through the auction houses and bookshops of Antiva had turned up no clues as to the whereabouts of the _Arlathvhen_. The closest he had come was finding a volume titled _The Arlathvhen, Gathering of the Dalish: Peaceful Festival, or Secret Military Briefing?_ Hopefully, Abelas would have better news. 

When Abelas arrived in Starkhaven, he came bearing a mysterious package.

“General,” Solas greeted him. “Tell me your team has found something. My own search was fruitless.”

Abelas did not look excited to share his news. Then again, Abelas never looked excited. “My investigation was unsuccessful, as well. There is no trace of the grimoire in Nevarra.”

Solas gestured to the bundle Abelas carried. “What have you brought with you then?”

Abelas grimaced. “Sir, this package was found at the door to the base this morning. Upon investigation, it contains several containers of tea, a Chantry scholar’s treatise titled ‘The Cult of Fen’Harel,’ and a sealed letter addressed to you.”

After more disappointing news, Solas was in no mood for this. “Hand it over,” he ordered, then dismissed Abelas. As he had half expected, the letter was from Ellana. 

“ _Andaran atish’an_ _, ma vhenan_ ,” it began. “ _The last time we spoke, you seemed tired. You must be in need of some tea, so I’ve sent some along for you. I’ve also included the fascinating new treatise by Brother Genitivi that describes the recent discovery of the Cult of Fen’Harel. You will likely find it illuminating. Tell Abelas I said hello. Dareth shiral, Solas._ ”

Solas was beginning to contemplate whether he could bring himself to simply strangle Ellana the next time he had the opportunity. First her antics in the Dales, then showing up in the Fade, and now this. What was she thinking? She knew, she had to know, how close he was to success. While his latest moves had been a carefully charted route from one victory to the next, Ellana seemed to be flailing at any opening she could find. Perhaps she really was lost without her friends behind her. For now, there was the matter of the treatise she had sent to him. “The Cult of Fen’Harel?” Solas mused aloud. Unable to resist, he began to read:

“ _Some weeks ago, Chantry scouts were puzzled to find that every known altar to Fen’Harel in the Dales has been recently disturbed. Whereas the Dalish are known to leave offerings of meat, wine, or even flowers on this deity’s altars, these offerings were unlike any seen before. They consisted of tea and what appeared to be inedible cakes, while the sites, including the wolf statues themselves, have been covered with crudely painted phallic symbols [see fig. 1]._ ” 

Barely a paragraph into the paper, Solas lost his temper and immolated the containers of tea that sat on his desk. While he had at first dismissed Lavellan’s antics in the Dales as a petty insult, he now saw his miscalculation. He had overlooked how the Dalish might respond to the defacement of the altars and he had not even considered what might happen if the Chantry were to discover the offerings. If he could be made a laughingstock among the Dalish, they would never follow him. And the Chantry would destroy centuries of legends, repainting him as the guardian of elven fertility rites, rather than the Champion of the People. For the first time in two years, Solas felt like he had slipped up, perhaps irreparably. 

And to make everything worse, the packet Ellana had sent showed up on the doorstep of the Starkhaven base. First Rialto, now Starkhaven. Somehow, she knew where he was. Which meant two bases compromised. _Fenedhis_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to operativelm for the opening quote for this chapter.


	5. Fresh Brewed Trouble

_“It is safe to say a Dalish mage must have been the one to place the offerings, as their magic barrier remained by the time we arrived. This meant the items were undisturbed by the local wildlife, as they would be days later when the barrier faded. Upon examination, the tea left on the altars is a rather unique herbal blend, likely originating in the Free Marches, on account of the wyvern-berries. Wyvern-berry only grows in the wild expanses of the Free Marches, where Dalish clans are likely to roam. The tea’s taste is delicate, a blend of fruity and floral flavors that evoke thoughts of spring.”_

_\- Notes On Camellia Solanensis_ , Ines Arancia [excerpt]

The past month had been a breakthrough. After so much time spent just trying to get the ritual to work, Ellana was now able to haunt Solas in the Fade almost every night. She could tell it was wearing on him. And, as much as she didn’t want to acknowledge it, the work was wearing on her, as well. The Inquisition’s healers had warned her that the Anchor’s damage would never really heal. They were right. Even on good days, the pain in her arm was a persistent drain on her energy. It was just another reality of her life after the Inquisition.

Ellana had just taken her morning dose of pain-numbing herbs when Merrill and Briala walked into the room. With the long hours she and Merrill spent spellcasting, Ellana’s arm was bothering her more than usual. It felt like it was on fire, burning with the Anchor again. The stump where it was severed hurt as well. Dagna and the healers had assured her that wearing a prosthetic would help ease the lingering pain, and it usually did. But the ache never completely faded.

Back when the Anchor was trying to kill her, the Inquisition’s healers had prescribed elfroot and crystal grace for the pain. Once her arm was amputated, the dose had changed, but the healers had recommended that she continue taking the potions. Ellana took the mixture dutifully, twice a day, but sometimes she doubted how much it helped. There were at least fewer nights when she woke screaming, her body convulsing as it had when the Anchor flared. Her pain was not a fact she shared willingly. The Anchor’s ravaging of her body had been so extreme that she had lost the ability to hide it, but the lingering issues after it was removed were far less obvious to observers, so she simply didn’t mention them. She quickly hid the bottle in her clothing before her friends could notice. The last thing she needed was for the others to start worrying about her arm.

Briala settled herself at the desk in the corner to sort through her agents’ reports. She seemed to like observing the ritual.

Merrill perched in one of the chairs, one leg tucked beneath her. “Are you ready?” she asked.

Ellana nodded. “Let’s go.”

Merrill made an incision across her palm, just deep enough to bleed, then began chanting the elven ritual. The ancient words sounded almost like a song in her lilting accent.

Ellana slowly felt the chill of the Fade surround her. She tried reaching for Solas, but her concentration was broken by a spasm in her left arm. Ellana gritted her teeth, trying not to make a sound as she came tumbling out of her trance.

“Are you alright?” Merrill asked.

“I’m fine; I just lost my grip on the Fade. Are you okay to try again?”

“Sure.”

Ellana mustered her way into the Fade, but was only there for a few seconds before she found herself awake again, this time on the floor.

Merrill was kneeling next to her. “Ellana! What happened?”

Ellana shook her head, hoping to clear it. “How did I get on the floor?”

Briala had come over as well, and offered Ellana a hand up. “Your body convulsed and you fell off the sofa. Is something wrong?”

“No!” Ellana snapped, then blurted, “I’m sorry.”

“Can we do anything to help?” Merrill asked gently, as Ellana settled back onto the couch.

“I don’t know.”

“Please, tell us what’s wrong, and we’ll do our best to help you,” Briala said.

Ellana hung her head. “It’s my arm,” she murmured. “It still hurts like the Anchor is there.”

“I see. How long has it been hurting?”

“It never really stops,” Ellana admitted.

“Has it gotten worse?”

Ellana nodded, gritting her teeth again as pain flared through her nerves.

“Do you have potions to help?”

“Ever since the year after I became Inquisitor. That’s when the Anchor started getting bad. The Anchor’s gone now, but the aftereffects are still there, along with the problems that came with amputating.”

“You should have told us sooner. Do you want to try to keep casting?”

“I’m not sure I should.”

Briala nodded. “There’s no shame in that. If you would like, I have an idea for something that could help you. I can show you.”

“Please,” Ellana said. 

Merrill excused herself, as she needed to finish her lessons for the next day.

Not knowing what to expect, Ellana followed Briala into the kitchen. It was a familiar enough place to Ellana, since she and Varric had agreed that it would be best to leave only the cleaning to the staff. It was too likely that Ellana or Briala might be recognized, and events at the Winter Palace had demonstrated more than once that anyone tending to menial tasks might be an agent in disguise. This left Ellana and Briala to fend for themselves when it came to food preparation, which meant that Ellana frequently found herself in the kitchen, cooking the various simple meals she had once eaten with her clan.

“What are we doing here?” Ellana asked.

Briala began gathering ingredients on the work surface. “We are making bread.”

“Is it—special bread or something?”

Briala laughed. “No. A simple task like making dough will keep your mind occupied and will exercise your arm, both of which will help relieve your pain. You’re straining yourself, Ellana. There’s no shame in resting.”

“Thank you,” Ellana murmured. “It’s hard to remember I’m not the Inquisitor anymore. That all of this doesn’t depend on me.”

They worked in silence at first, mixing the ingredients into dough. Ellana had to admit that the gentle motion of mixing seemed to ease the pain of her arm. Once her arm stopped hurting so badly, Ellana said, “I’ve been meaning to ask you, Briala, why did you join Solas?”

“The truce you arranged between Celene, Gaspard, and me was failing. Many of my agents had deserted me, seeing my cooperation with the shems as betrayal. I knew my rebellion was falling apart. When I learned there was another elven rebellion, one more successful than my own, being carried out, I was eager to join. It’s embarrassing, but Fen’Harel was a sort of hero of mine: an old Dalish legend, who was willing to scatter the enemies of his people. And I remembered Solas from Halamshiral. I was surprised to learn that he was the one leading the rebellion, but I was so eager to help my people. Once I learned what he was planning, I was horrified. I thought Celene’s treatment of my people was traitorous, but Solas is far worse. He promises us everything we ever wanted and never reveals that it will cost the lives of every living person.”

Ellana pounded the dough mercilessly. “His plans are insane.”

“Surprising words from the woman who loves him,” Briala said, gently kneading her portion of the dough. 

“I love him enough to know he has to be stopped before he destroys everyone and then himself. But how did you find out the truth about his plan?”

“I snuck inside his office while he was away.”

“Then he hasn’t been honest with anyone. I wonder how many followers he would have left if they knew the truth.”

“There are some who will follow no matter what. They would see their sacrifice as necessary.”

Ellana frowned down at her dough. “It’s awful that our people have come to that point.”

“What recourse have we given them? You and I were both in positions of power. Did it matter for the elves we ruled? They turn to Solas because no one else is acting.”

Ellana shaped her dough back into a ball. “You’re right. It’s why Leliana and I have been working to obtain rights for the elves. She’s already abolished the Circles and freed the mages, but granting land isn’t something she can do by Divine edict. It’s taken some time, but we’ve discovered that royalty are not the ones to talk to when it comes to taking back land for the elves. There are far more minor nobles and farmers who are willing to hand over their land to the clans. We also have drafts of petitions to grant legal rights and full citizenship to the elves of Orlais and Ferelden. We had just started working on a way to outlaw alienages. Then the Exalted Council happened.”

Briala had stopped working her dough and stood wide-eyed. “I had no idea.”

“The plans have been delayed by our efforts to defeat Solas, unfortunately. He has no idea what he’s ruining for our people in the name of giving them justice.”

Briala fetched two bowls from a shelf and they set their dough inside to raise. “You have no idea how wonderful it is to hear you and Merrill say, ‘our people.’ The first Dalish clan I ever met wouldn’t even acknowledge me as an elf.”

“Ridiculous,” Ellana said. “But Solas was the same way. I yelled at him enough that he stopped with that ‘my people’ versus ‘your people’ bullshit. Then I went to the Temple of Mythal and the ancient elves called me a _shemlen_.”

“The Sentinels?”

“I take it you’ve met them?”

“General Abelas was very full of himself at the beginning.”

Ellana gave an unladylike snort. “He thinks he’s too good for the other elves. Maybe that’s what his parents were apologizing for.”

Briala laughed. “His name is unfortunate. I think of him every time I say sorry.”

“So do I!”

Too quickly, Briala sobered again. “The sad thing is how easily Solas overcame the infighting between the elves, just by promising them a chance to take back their land.”

“It’s encouraging, though. It means we can do the same.”

“I hope so, Inquisitor. Our people have suffered for too long.”

* * *

It had been months since the day Solas had last seen Lavellan in the waking world. That had been a particularly trying day, quelling the might of the qunari, placing the clues for the Inquisitor to follow, and then finally telling most of the truth to Ellana. It had been a long, hard road from that day to this. Now only the _Arlathvhen_ remained between him and victory. He had walked the _Dinan’shiral_ , had become the terror in the dark that haunted all of Thedas. And he had hidden himself from Ellana. After that first mistaken encounter with her at Skyhold in the Fade, he had stayed out of her dreams. Speaking with her was too likely to trip him up in old memories. 

The trouble was, he had had no peace for the last month. Any time he drifted into the Fade in his sleep, he worried that Ellana would appear. Most nights, he was right to worry, because the moment he let his guard down was always when she arrived. Her abilities with dream magic were infuriating. He was usually able to expel her from the Fade within a few minutes, but no matter how brief the encounter, he was still shaken. Often, he would end up waking and be unable to rest afterward. Especially since she somehow managed to blaze through all of the wards he set in place. And she had seen too much about his location on many occasions, necessitating an immediate move to another base.

Solas had poured all of his energy into trying to stop Ellana from invading his dreams, but she proved both incredibly powerful and notoriously pigheaded, as usual. After the third week of having to change locations almost daily and failing to prevent Ellana’s nightly visits, Solas was sleeping less and less. Either he would lie awake, fearing to let his guard down, or he would wake shaken by another of Ellana’s interruptions. Finally, he gave up on sleep altogether. If it was a choice between a few sleepless nights and losing another base, Solas thought the answer was obvious. But when Abelas saw Solas’s haggard appearance, he immediately had questions.

“Is something, wrong, sir? You appear to be suffering from a lack of sleep.”

Determined to preserve his stubborn secrecy, Solas replied, “It’s nothing. Only that the _Arlathvhen_ continues to elude us.”

“You may not want to explain yourself, but we’ve been losing outposts almost daily. That is not something I can ignore. You’re running from something. This is not only about the book, my lord.”

“What else could there be?”

“Lavellan has been silent for too long, sir. If anything could cause you to lose sleep and run like a hunted hare, I suspect it would be her.”

“You think everything is Lavellan,” Solas snapped.

“Only because she is the usual cause when you seem this troubled. You cannot keep cleaning out bases at this pace without losing ground. If you would listen to reason instead of being so stubborn, perhaps I could help.”

“It is not your concern. And I did not ask for an assessment of my leadership. You are dismissed, general.”

Abelas turned on his way out. “If I may be so bold, sir, I could have some tea sent up. It could help ease the sleeplessness.”

While Solas was usually extraordinarily patient and kept a tight leash on his temper, the recent lack of sleep was wearing on him. “Get out of my sight!” he snarled at Abelas. “Do not mention tea to me again!”

Once again alone, Solas returned his attention to the maps on his desk. Losing so many bases over the past weeks meant setting up hideouts in new locations, which also meant relocating the eluvians. Charting the placement of the current eluvians, Solas found himself staring into empty space without any sense of how much time had passed. He was struggling to keep his eyes open, despite his best efforts to focus on regaining the ground he had lost. He stood and paced around his office, a habit that he had practiced all too often since his sleep had gotten so sparse. Returning to his desk, he attempted again to chart the best locations to set up the mirrors. He kept one finger on the spot where the first eluvian was located, then moved his other hand carefully up the map, hesitating between a handful of markers. His head ached and his vision swam. The more he tried to force himself to work, the fuzzier his thoughts grew. The markers all seemed out of focus. He narrowed his eyes. Was that an eluvian? Or a town? If he could only close his eyes for a moment. . . .Without realizing, he drifted to sleep on his desk, his head propped on his outstretched arms.

Solas felt the comforting embrace of the Fade and drew strength from the heady sensation of being enveloped by its magic. Mages over the centuries had described the Fade as cold. For Solas, it was no different. But whereas others felt the Fade as a shock of cold after the living warmth of the mundane world, for Solas it was like stepping into a cool shelter from the barren heat of a desert. Here, he could finish his task and recoup some of the energy that had been sapped from his bones. Returning his attention to the map, he marked the best places to establish two of the new bases, then tensed when he recollected himself. Exhaustion was making him careless. He was in the Fade, and he was alone so far. This was how it always seemed to happen: he would be so relieved to feel the Fade around him that he would forget to shield himself, then Ellana would appear from nowhere. Not this time. He murmured a series of spells that should make him undetectable to anyone who might look for him. Surely she could not be lying in wait all the time. Perhaps he had laid the wards quickly enough.

“Hello, Solas,” came Ellana’s cheerful voice from behind his shoulder.

He let out an undignified shriek and scrambled to his feet. “Really, Ellana! Am I to have no peace?!”

She grinned at him. “Feeling tired, _vhenan?_ The Dalish have a cure for that. You take some tea, and steep it in more tea—” Ellana looked down at his desk. “What are you working on? New bases? Just outside of Amaranthine, and—”

Without even sparing a thought to sending Ellana away, he yanked himself out of his trance, waking with a shouted expletive that likely made anyone within earshot question his sanity. He sat awake, sulking. He was angry and tired and miserable. Before Ellana started haunting him every night, he had been numb to the task ahead, mind set on restoring Arlathan. Now, his every step toward victory was weighed down by memories of his love and all of the people who had mattered to him in the past years. It had been easier when he could doubt they were people. But with Ellana’s persistent interruptions, he couldn’t shut out his memories of the Inquisition and of. . .his friends. And so he was ashamed. Ashamed of the lives he had taken and those he was bound to take now. He needed someone to talk to. After Abelas’ belligerence, he would prefer not to ask his general’s opinion.

Late as it was, Solas found Morrigan in the library, transcribing her translation of yet another ancient text the agents had recovered. She didn’t pause in her work as he approached. Without looking up, she remarked, “The Dread Wolf has come to observe my work? Has planning the demise of the world become so tedious that you would trouble yourself over a translator?”

“I was hoping I might speak with you,” Solas replied. He never ceased to be surprised by how combative Morrigan could be, even in casual conversation. It was part of why he had assigned her to research and translation. He could not imagine sending her on missions. She seemed content with her situation, though. Most of the time when he checked on her progress, she seemed happily engaged in her work until he interrupted. Once or twice, he had even caught her humming to herself as she took notes. As long as she was left alone, Morrigan was generally pleased. Now, even though he had expressed his wish to converse with her, she did not glance up from her work.

“You will allow me to finish this set of lines and then we will speak, if we must,” she said.

“Indeed,” Solas replied, sparing no energy for irritation at her presumptiveness. In all honesty, it was refreshing to speak to someone who didn’t cower at the sight of him. At least between Morrigan and Abelas, Solas could count on two of his allies being rude and opinionated. It was almost like being back at Skyhold. He seated himself at the table across from her to wait.

Several minutes later, Morrigan laid down her pen and stared him down. “What is it you wanted? Did you find another deathtrap of a book?”

“No. Nothing of the sort. Walk with me,” Solas requested.

“Oh, are we sharing secrets?” Morrigan asked. “I thought an empty library would be sufficiently private.”

They left the library and he led the way to one of the balconies that had been declared stable.

“Why have you joined my cause?” Solas asked.

Morrigan laughed darkly. “You ask me this now?”

“I had hoped at first that your reasons would become clearer as we advanced our work.”

“And they have not?”

“No.”

She laughed again. “So, the Dread Wolf cannot discern why I would choose to join him. ‘Tis very simple. I desire knowledge.”

“What knowledge?”

“The knowledge of the ancient elves. Their workings are lost to time for now. I would learn of them.”

“You know the world will be consumed in fire and you still wish to study?”

“The world is always threatened. Now is no different. If I know when it will be lost, I know how long I have to learn.”

Solas stared at her in disbelief. “Then it does not trouble you to assist in ending this world?”

“If it did, would I not be elsewhere?”

“I see.”

Morrigan studied his face. “You wonder how I can be so heartless.”

He was not even surprised that she could see through him so easily. “I wish I could be so dispassionate about the work before me.”

“‘Twould make the path before you easier, yes. Perhaps if you could forget the lady Inquisitor, your burdens would be lighter.”

“Do not speak of her,” Solas said coldly.

“Do you expect me to be cowed like your other followers? I am not so spineless. If you would have me aid your cause, I will speak my mind as I please. Your love affair with the Chantry’s darling is a secret I will choose to keep for now, but how long do you think your followers will stay silent about your refusal to end her? You have abandoned nearly a dozen bases in the past weeks. Who but the Inquisitor could cause you to behave so irrationally? Until you learn to put your plans ahead of those who would lead you astray, you will never be freed from your guilt.”

“What a cruel way to live.”

“Not so. Cruelty is making yourself believe you can have both worlds: the one we have now and the one you would remake. Sooner or later, you must choose.”

“My choice is made,” Solas insisted.

“If only that were true. ‘Twould be so easy to be free of her. Find her in the Fade and cut her throat. She would be only a husk of herself, empty of magic, Tranquil. Not dead, only harmless, emptied of the will to fight you.”

“No. I cannot do that.”

“Of course not. And that is why you will fail, _my lord_. You wonder how I can watch you end the world? It is because I know you will not.” Morrigan left him alone with his bitter thoughts.

* * *

Finally, Ellana felt like she was gaining ground. The last time she saw Solas in the Fade, he had been cranky, easily startled, and clumsy. It was clear that he had drifted off to sleep while he was attempting to work and was angry at having been caught. Leliana’s agents had successfully raided three of Solas’s bases and apprehended some of his followers. But she still had more than two years’ worth of catching up to do.

Unfortunately, she and Merrill had been pressing so hard to catch Solas that they had all but exhausted themselves. Ellana was an expert at playing cheerful around Solas, but her nerves were raw. She worried constantly that Solas would grow tired of her interruptions and either kill or maim her. There was also the issue of her arm. Although Briala’s suggestion of gentle exercise was helping, Ellana still felt the strain in the place it hurt most.

Merrill was struggling, as well. While Ellana could draw strength and mana from entering the Fade while they worked the ritual, Merrill was paying in both blood and mana every time they cast. As a result, she was often left sapped of both magical and mundane energy by the time Ellana emerged from her trance.

Today, Ellana was worried sick. Merrill had promised the night before that she would visit again, but she never showed up. If Briala had not been so concerned about the possibility of endangering Ellana, she would have insisted on going to find Merrill herself.

Instead, Ellana and Briala had to wait until the next morning, trying not to go crazy. The moment the sun was up, they sent Varric to check on their friend. He returned with a very tired-looking Merrill in tow. 

“I’m so sorry, Ellana,” Merrill said, tears in her eyes. “I know how important this is. We have to keep working. It’s just that the children needed extra help yesterday and I was so tired when I got home—”

“Stop,” Briala interrupted, taking a seat next to Merrill on the sofa. “Don’t apologize anymore. The two of you are working like lunatics. You need to slow down. I don’t care how much of an advantage Solas has. If you two don’t stop, you’ll kill yourselves. You’ve been doing more than enough, Merrill. You’ve been using your own blood every time you cast that ritual and spending every drop of your mana on it. It’s time you both paced yourselves.”

“I second that,” Varric said. He turned to Ellana, “Didn’t I tell you not to spend every spare minute obsessing over Solas? The two of you look like shit. Have you even slept lately?”

Glancing at Merrill, who looked pale enough to pass for a walking corpse, Ellana hung her head. “Probably not enough. It’s hard to slow down when I know time is running out.”

“This isn’t all your fight, Inquisitor,” Varric insisted. “You told me Leliana’s people had been successful lately. Let them take the lead for a while.”

“I still think I need to keep talking to Solas.”

“One night a week,” Briala suggested.

“Two,” Merrill said. “I can do two.”

Briala took Merrill’s hands in hers. “You need to be careful,” she said. “Please try not to cast between rituals. I know how much blood you’ve been using for this and your body can only take so much.”

“I know, but—”

“No buts.”

Ellana glanced at Varric, who was smirking like he had just taken the pot in another round of Wicked Grace.

“Check that out,” she said, nudging him.

“Daisy and the Orlesian, huh? That’s trouble waiting to happen.”

“Admit it, you think they’re good for each other.”

“All of this elfyness is a little too much for me. But if it stops Chuckles from killing us all, I’m for it. And Daisy could use someone with good sense to keep an eye on her.”

Merrill insisted on keeping up a two-night schedule for the ritual, although Ellana made sure her friend knew they could limit themselves to one night a week instead. They also took care to choose nights at random, so that Solas wouldn’t be able to predict Ellana’s appearances. It helped. Ellana felt less tense and was less fixated on stopping Solas, and Merrill was less exhausted and no longer looked like a ghost. Varric appointed himself the rest patrol to make sure the conspirators weren’t wearing themselves out, while Briala took over the kitchen and shoveled food into Ellana and Merrill at regular intervals.

Promising reports rolled in from Leliana’s agents, and Ellana contented herself with keeping up the fight at a less exhausting pace. She was also pleased to see that Merrill kept visiting every day, although she spent most of her time talking to Briala about the alienage school instead of casting magic. There were even nights where she stayed in Hightown instead of making her way home after dark.

* * *

Even with all of the guilt and self-loathing he carried, Solas wondered what he had ever done to deserve this. He had given up moving from base to base. Ellana’s care packages found him no matter where he hid. He had no idea how she was able to discern his location, but it was beginning to frighten him. In addition, his scouts had confirmed the initial rumors of a Dalish cult that was worshipping him as a fertility god. What had begun as Chantry speculation seemed to have rooted itself in reality. Solas wondered how exactly Ellana had managed that. She was talented at magic and at being a nuisance in general, but he never suspected that religion was one of the means she would use to thwart him. 

His understanding of Lavellan—or lack thereof—aside, Solas recognized that she was beginning to close in on him from all sides. The worst recent development was the tea. More specifically, the fact that Solas had begun to drink the tea that Ellana had sent. He wondered if this was how his chess opponents felt when they realized he had hemmed them in.

Desperation had driven him. He had slept a total of three hours over five nights. He had been too exhausted to properly ward himself when his body finally gave out and forced him to sleep. Ellana had found him in the Fade, as she always did, but he had not attempted to escape her. This time, he had questions of his own.

“What is the Cult of Fen’Harel?” he demanded.

Ellana grinned mischievously. “Enjoying your reading material?”

“Brother Genitivi,” he spat, “seems to think that they are a Dalish fertility cult.”

“That’s been the most popular theory, based on ‘the proliferation of crude phallic imagery’ found at the sites where the cultists have gathered. Although Brother Burbadur has some unique ideas.”

“That hack?! They still allow him to publish?!”

Ellana giggled. “So, you know about Brother Burbadur? I’ve sent you a copy of his latest book. It’s all about your cult.”

“With his Snake-Kings and lunatics? _Mythal enaste_ , what have you done?”

“You mean Moon Men?” Ellana corrected. “Don’t you realize, Solas? I don’t have to instigate everything. It’s like Thedas itself wants you to fail.”

“What does that even mean?”

“It means, _vhenan_ , that Dorian and Sera and I pulled a silly prank, which was discovered and recorded by the Chantry scholars, about the same time that some Dalish teenagers took some penis paintings as signs that Fen’Harel wanted to be worshiped with orgies. You’re currently considered the God of Having a Good Time among the Dalish. According to my Keeper, there have been far fewer disappearances from the clans, which probably means the young people you would’ve recruited are too busy getting high in your name to throw their lives away by joining you.”

Solas felt winded. All of his plans, all of his hopes, and she was tripping him up by sheer chance. Too exhausted to stay angry, he weakly asked, “Why would you do such a thing?”

“Because you hurt me, you idiot. Did you think the offerings were some grand scheme? No. I was trying to make myself feel better because you disappeared for two years and came back just in time to tell me you were planning to tear apart the world. I had no intention of turning your followers against you, but it looks like you really are the God of Misfortune, because it worked.”

“Will you stop hounding me, then? If you have saved so many, is that not enough?”

“I haven’t saved anyone yet. Just because those elves aren’t working for you doesn’t mean they’re safe. As long as you’re working, the world is in danger. And besides, don’t you like seeing me in the Fade? You seemed eager enough when you could get away whenever you wanted. Am I actually getting through to you?”

“You’re accomplishing nothing more than making a nuisance of yourself.”

“That’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me in ages, _vhenan_.”

He groaned miserably. “Will you please go away?”

“Too tired to send me yourself? Guess it’s time for you to drink your tea.”

Solas sank to the floor, where he sat with his head in his hands. He only realized he was awake again when Abelas opened the door and found him sitting so, unmoving.

“Sir?” his general asked.

Solas gave a little sob. “I’m the Dread Wolf!” he said hysterically.

“Yes, my lord Fen’Harel.”

“What has she done to me?” Solas said, staring up at the tower of Chantry writings that sat on his desk.

Abelas glanced at the stack of pamphlets. “Then it is Lavellan who is causing the trouble.”

Solas rubbed his burning eyes. “Of course it is.”

That was the breaking point. Tea was the only answer. Solas had to be alert. He had to be the rebel Evanuris Fen’Harel again, for the sake of the People. Ellana could do her worst. He scrambled to his feet and snatched a bundle of tea from his desk, where it had lain since Ellana’s last packet had been brought in days before. He brushed past Abelas, who was still looking very concerned.

“My lord,” Abelas said. “I do not believe it is wise for your followers to see you in this state.”

“Noted.” Solas did not stop. He strode swiftly down the hall, making his way to the kitchens. 

Solas pushed open the kitchen door, Abelas on his heels. The kitchen staff shied away at the sight of the Dread Wolf and his general suddenly appearing in their workspace, but Solas behaved as if nothing were amiss. Turning to one of the attendants, he politely asked, “Could you tell me where to find a kettle? I intend to brew some tea.”

“Of course, my lord,” the young woman blurted, scrambling to a nearby cabinet and hauling out an iron kettle and a teapot. “Here you are, my lord Fen’Harel.”

“Thank you.”

“My lord,” Abelas hissed into his ear. “Would it not have been simpler to have _them_ brew the tea and bring it to your door?”

“Of course,” Solas replied coolly. “But this way I can prepare it as I please, and there is no risk of poison.”

Abelas simply shook his head and disappeared down the hall. The kitchen staff remained clustered in a corner, watching Solas with a mixture of shock and fascination. One of them whispered, “But I thought he didn’t like tea!” and was promptly shushed.

When the kettle began to whistle, Solas carefully doled out a portion of the tea leaves and placed them in a teapot. Gathering the pot and a mug, he returned to his office to wait for the tea to steep. When he had finally strained the leaves and poured a cup of the brew for himself, Solas had to admit that just the smell of the brew made him feel more alert. If only it wouldn’t taste so horrible.

He gingerly took a sip and forced himself not to gag. It was as bad as taking spindleweed tonics for a chest cold. Once, alone in the wilds, he had gotten so hungry he tried eating moss he had scraped off a rock. The dirt-caked roots of that moss had tasted better than this tea. Or, truthfully, any tea he had ever tried. Part of him wondered if Ellana had deliberately sent him some terrible variety of the stuff, but he brushed the thought aside. No, tea was just terrible. He had brewed enough of it to know. It all tasted like muddy leaves scraped off a damp forest floor. Still, if it kept Ellana out of his head, it was worth it. Sip by painful sip, Solas downed the entire cup.


	6. The Mirror's Secret

" _. . . and it's the strangest thing, Maddy, dear: for whatever reason, the nobility have jumped right on the bandwagon! Everywhere you go in Orlais, now, you see dukes, comtes, and baronesses, all, wearing these unseemly phallus hats. And, what, does the cult of this Fenharlo or whomever really have that much influence? Maybe I should find a fancy old rock that has badger markings. Then we'd really get some sensible fashions, Maker forbid._ "

\- Personal letter to Lady Madeline from Duchess Ruelle, published by the University of Orlais [excerpt]

Now that she and Merrill were casting the Dreamwalking spell far less often, Ellana was adamant that they could not give up the advantage they had gained.

“Even though we’ve cut back on how often I speak to him, we seem to be wearing Solas out,” she told Briala. “My suspicion is that he’s too afraid to go to sleep. You saw how the last few times we tried to cast, I couldn’t even find him in the Fade.”

“So where does that put us, strategy-wise?”

“Solas isn’t sleeping. That means he’s either about to start drinking the tea I’m sending, or he’s started already. My glimpses of him in the Fade have helped Leliana’s agents find the bases you’ve identified. And with help from your agents, we’ve kept him from replenishing his tea supply.”

“That’s not much. Are we really gambling our hopes of defeating Solas on him being sick of seeing you in the Fade?”

“Unfortunately. At least it seems to be working so far.”

“There’s another angle we haven’t explored yet. Merrill’s eluvian. If it opens to the Crossroads, we’ll be able to access all of Solas’s bases.”

When Merrill arrived that evening, they suggested the idea to her.

“Do you really think it would work?” she asked. “It never worked for me.”

Briala reassured her. “I activated the labyrinth in Orlais, and Solas had me researching eluvians for most of the time I was working for him, so I should be able to get yours to work.”

Merrill beamed. “Oh, please! Let’s try. I’ll go on ahead and get my house cleaned up. It’s always a mess these days.” 

As soon as she had gone, Varric came in. Hands on his hips, he said, “Daisy says you’re all going to check out that cursed mirror of hers. So you’re just going to walk down the streets of Kirkwall and expect nobody to notice? This isn’t Orlais. The people here won’t just overlook you because you’re an elf.”

“They might still turn up their noses if they think we’re from the alienage,” Ellana protested.

“Too risky,” Varric insisted. “I’m supposed to be keeping you safe here.”

“And you’ve done a fine job, but I’m going to see Merrill. And you’ll have to follow me if you want to keep arguing.” Ellana strode through the door that joined their houses. She went immediately to a trunk in her room. Briala tagged along.

Varric did, in fact, follow her to keep arguing. He watched her rummage through the clothes in the trunk. “You’ll bundle yourself up so that no one can see your face? The city guard will stop you in five minutes.”

Briala shook her head. “Five whole minutes? They call that efficient?”

Varric did not look amused.

“But seriously, we’ve already planned for this,” Ellana assured him. “We figured it out the day Merrill didn’t show up.”

“And just what is this plan?”

“Ah, perfect!” She held up a gaudy Orlesian mask in one hand, and a heavy gown in the other. She tossed the clothing to Briala, then retrieved another mask and gown for herself.

“What do you propose to do with that?”

“This is a trick Charter wrote about Solas using.” Ellana held the mask in front of her face. “I am simply the handmaid of Duchess Perrault-Reynaud visiting this poor excuse for a city,” she said, feigning an Orlesian accent.

“Amazing,” Varric said.

“My accent?”

“Yeah. Amazing that you’ve spent so much time with an Orlesian and your accent is still that terrible.”

Ellana snorted.

Briala slid her mask onto her face. “He’s right, Inquisitor.”

“If they catch you, better let the Orlesian do the talking,” Varric advised.

“Zees eez an outrage! I cannot believe you’d insult zee Duchess’s handmaid so!” Ellana exclaimed in an even more deliberately terrible accent.

“Is that what I sound like to you?” Briala wanted to know.

“ _Your_ accent is lovely. Mine is bad specifically to annoy Varric.”

“Andraste’s ass,” Varric swore. “No one would believe you’re the Inquisitor.”

“Perfect. That way I barely need the disguise.”

“I guess I can’t stop you.”

“Nope. I’m going as soon as I get changed. Which I’d rather not do with you standing here.”

“If you get caught, I’m not coming to your rescue,” Varric said over his shoulder as he closed the door behind him.

* * *

Solas had managed more work in the past weeks than he had in nearly two months, all because of the tea Ellana had sent. No longer was he too exhausted to work during the day and too harried to work at night. The blessed stimulant had kept exhaustion—and Ellana—at bay for days now. The trouble was, the supply was running out. And as hard as they searched, his agents had been unable to locate any tea except unusual herbal blends with no stimulant properties. Equally scarce was the Antivan curiosity known as “coffee” that was said to be just as good as tea for maintaining alertness. It was all too perfectly coordinated. 

Solas was currently nursing a headache that felt as if his skull was splitting apart. He had finished the last of the ghastly tea the day before, and his agents had been unable to procure more. Abelas had just returned from the field to report.

“Sir,” the general said. “Some of our agents deployed to the Free Marches have sent word that there is tea to be had with the Dalish there.”

Solas frowned. “Unsurprising. She would, of course, anticipate my reluctance to purchase tea from such sources. No matter. We will do what we must.”

Abelas hesitated. “That was not all, sir.”

“What else, then?”

“The Dalish have sent word that they will sell to no one but Fen’Harel himself. They require you to purchase the tea directly.”

Of course. A ploy to force him to interact with the Dalish. Ellana’s methods were, as usual, full of naïve moralizing. “I’ll go,” Solas said.

“This could be a trap.”

“A trap, yes, but not the sort you suspect. Lavellan thinks sending me to her people will teach me a lesson. If anything, the worst risk I’ll face is being lectured by some yokels about how silly my plans are.”

“That is an interesting perspective, my lord.”

“I should hope I would have learned enough about my enemy’s way of thinking to anticipate her next move after more than a year spent aiding her forces.”

“Indeed,” Abelas replied. He sounded as if he were biting his tongue to keep from saying more.

“Did you have something else to say, general?” Solas asked.

“No, sir.”

“A wise answer, but also untrue. Do not lie to me.”

“The question has been raised, my lord, as to why you have not simply killed Inquisitor Lavellan. Is she not the one undermining all of your plans?”

Solas had no answer. Even with all the time he had spent contemplating it, he still did not know what to say when his forces asked such an obvious question. The delay in his response was answer enough for Abelas.

“You’re still in love with her.”

Solas tried to feign disbelief at the accusation. “In love with Lavellan? You are mistaken. I may have manipulated her affections to maintain my place as trusted advisor in the Inquisition, but I assure you that was all.”

Abelas glared at him. “How long will you go on like this?”

“What do you mean?”

“Pretending you don’t care about the woman you love, acting like sacrificing this world won’t tear you apart, insisting that you have any tangible plans for how to run Arlathan once your thousand year coup succeeds?”

Solas very carefully laid down his pen. “I thought you believed in our cause, Abelas.”

“I thought so, too. But more than that, I want what is best for our people. And I think we both know this isn’t it.”

Solas looked at Abelas and did not attempt to conceal his grief. “Do you remember the towers of Arlathan?” he asked. “And the great amphitheater where the spirits would lecture on magic? Do you remember the sound of Mythal’s laughter?”

Tears glinted in Abelas’ eyes. “The Sentinels were fortunate. The Temple was separate enough from the world that we largely escaped the relentless march of time. But the magic was failing. That we knew. Each time we woke it was weaker. We dared not stray far from our shelter, for none of us were certain what lay outside. The Veil was a mystery to us. We saw the upstart elvhen who wandered the forests nearby as shadows, empty of the magic that flowed in us. If we left our post, would we become the same? So we lingered for centuries uncounted, hidden away in the Lady’s sanctuary, fearing what lay beyond. We were willfully ignorant. We did not dare to see what had become of Thedas in the meantime. Ignorant as I fear you have remained. Have you seen what our people have become? What has changed and what remains?”

Solas nodded. “I have seen them, fallen and broken, held everywhere in chains. Unaware of the majesty that was ours once. There is no shred of Arlathan left in the elves who walk this world.” The lie tasted bitter on his tongue, like a mouthful of blood.

“Solas, you know that’s not true.”

“What would you have me do, Abelas? You yourself described these people as _shemlen_. Their magic is faded, their immortality lost, they are worshiping the very people who bound them in chains. I wish to show them mercy. To prevent all the suffering I brought on our people.”

“The suffering you brought, yes. That’s the heart of the matter. You know the people you will sacrifice are our people. You know that saving Arlathan will not solve all of the problems we face. But you can’t live with the guilt.”

Solas did not look up from his desk. “Return to your quarters, general. Another word of this and you will be jailed and stripped of your title.”

“Solas— ”

“You have forgotten your place. Go.”

Abelas bowed his head. “Yes, my lord Fen’Harel.” He turned to go.

As Abelas was leaving, Solas said, “I will deal with Lavellan as soon as I address the tea supply.”

Once he was alone again, Solas collapsed back into his chair. He heard Mythal’s words to him, now echoed in his own voice: “You have forgotten your place.” His head ached far worse now than it had before. It likely had something to do with the tears that pricked at the edge of his eyes.

* * *

Ellana and Briala made it through the streets of Kirkwall unnoticed. If anyone thought it was odd that an Orlesian noblewoman and her handmaid were out for a stroll just before dark, they didn’t mention it. Merrill’s house was easy enough for the two women to find, as their friend waved them inside almost immediately.

The house was very small and rather shabby. The floor was newly swept, and there were books stacked in hastily constructed piles along the one wall that wasn’t lined with shelves. Elvhen curiosities peeked out from every corner of the shelves that wasn’t already occupied by a book.

Ellana and Briala marveled at the sight. “Where did you get all of these?” Ellana said, trying to keep from gaping at Merrill’s collection, which included everything from scrolls of Dalish history to enchanted elven jewelry to an ancient statue of Mythal.

Merrill’s face reddened at the attention. “All over the place,” she said. “Some came from the caves where Mahariel found the eluvian, others Varric bought for me, and some came from my clan. Anything they thought might be dangerous, they brought to me.”

Briala was enthralled. “When I was a child, I believed the Dalish were some sort of legend; that they were the keepers of everything the city elves had lost. Seeing this, I could almost believe it was true.”

Merrill smiled sadly. “It’s only things. Most of it is for the school I run. I use these things to teach the children about the Dalish and the ancient elves.”

“What about the mirror?” Ellana asked.

Merrill waved them through the door to her bedroom. The eluvian had a space all its own, the only place in the house entirely free of books. A layer of dust coated the mirror, evidence that Merrill had set aside the project that had claimed so much of her time.

Briala stepped forward, running her right hand along the mirror’s side. She murmured an unfamiliar word and the eluvian’s surface started to glow.

“By the Dread Wolf!” Merrill swore, then—aiming a sheepish look at Ellana—meekly apologized. “It’s working. And it was so easy.”

Briala looked surprised herself. “This eluvian is different from the ones I worked with. While Solas had me researching, I learned that Tevinter stole many of the mirrors centuries ago. Some became Blighted when the Magisters entered the Black City. The entire network was separate from the ones the elves used.”

“Then it’s a Tevinter eluvian?”

“Essentially, yes,” Briala replied. “The work you did was right, but you had no way of knowing how to make the mirror work, because you didn’t have the key. Tevinter sealed their mirrors with their own magic and only someone who had studied eluvians extensively would have any hope of opening one like this.”

Ellana interjected, “Now that the mirror is working, where would it lead? You said it’s not connected to the mirrors Solas uses.”

“Likely it leads to somewhere in Tevinter. The only way of knowing is to go inside.”

“Could we?” Merrill exclaimed.

Ellana took a long look at the eluvian. “What could happen if we go through?” she asked Briala.

“Who knows? It could lead to somewhere Blighted. Or somewhere equally dangerous in Tevinter. As I said, we’ll have to go inside to know.”

Ellana shrugged. “If Solas succeeds we’ll all die anyway. Let’s go, Merrill.”

Merrill led the way through the mirror. Ellana and Briala followed close behind.

What lay on the other side was not at all what anyone had expected. Both Briala and Ellana were accustomed to eluvians opening to the Crossroads, the in-between place that linked eluvians together. Instead, they emerged in complete darkness, in a space so cramped it reminded Ellana of the tighter passages of the Deep Roads.

“What is this?” Merrill whispered.

“No way of knowing unless we can get some light in here,” Ellana said. “Maybe if we go further in, we can figure something out.”

One hand on the wall and one outstretched in front of her so she didn’t collide with anything, Ellana took a few steps forward. There was a slight turn and a strip of light appeared ahead of them. It was very plainly the light of day shining from beneath a door. There was a muffled crash as Merrill tripped over something in the dark. The light under the door revealed a ragged looking mop.

“Oh. That explains it,” Ellana said. “We’re in a closet.”

A loud voice came from outside the door: “Did you hear that?”

“Oh shit,” Ellana hissed. “We should get out of here.”

The three of them scrambled back through the eluvian, landing in a tangle of knees and elbows on the other side.

Back in Kirkwall, Merrill was furious. “A _broom closet?!_ ” she shouted. “I—I spent six years of my life restoring this eluvian!” She paused to take a deep breath and Ellana tried to calm her down.

“You had no way of knowing it led to a closet,” Ellana told her.

“And with enough power, you might be able to anchor this eluvian to another location,” Briala said. “It looks like Tevinter bypassed the Crossroads and simply paired their mirrors so they could use them more like doors to one place than passages to many locations.”

“It—it’s not that,” Merrill sputtered. “Eluvians—they’re sacred artifacts of our people. And they just had one, one that _worked_ , shoved in a broom closet like an old mop?” Tears filled her eyes.

“It’s okay,” Ellana said. “I know it’s hard.”

“Six years,” Merrill said through her tears. “Six. And I couldn’t even make it work.”

Briala crossed the room and drew Merrill into a tight embrace. “Our people have lost so much over the centuries,” she said. “Now we must gather the pieces and restore what we can. As you have done, _vhenan_.”

Merrill wiped her eyes, still clinging to Briala. “It’s so hard sometimes.”

“I know.” Briala pressed a gentle kiss to Merrill’s forehead. “But we must be strong and remember what we are fighting for. We are the last of the _elvhenan_. Never again shall we submit.”

* * *

Solas had not counted on venturing all the way to the Free Marches, but Ellana’s careful conniving had left him with little choice. He still hated the prospect, though. The Dalish disliked and distrusted him, and he pitied and resented them. While he had been able to recruit many of them to his cause, that had been accomplished through dreams or by means of his agents. He did not make a habit of meeting the Dalish in person. Still, he had made up his mind to deal with Ellana’s sentimental trap, and he was determined to get that tea.

So he found himself walking into the Lavellan encampment. The familiar sight of their aravels greeted him, but there was an odd lack of halla. Solas was surprised that there were no hunters patrolling the perimeter to stop him, but he understood once he saw that the Keeper stood waiting for him.

“ _Andaran atish’an_ ,” Solas said. “You must be Keeper Istimaethoriel.”

“ _Andaran atish’an, lethallin_ ,” she replied, an amused smile on her face. “You should call me Mae. And you must be Solas. Or do you prefer Fen’Harel? My granddaughter has told me so much about you.”

Solas could tell this woman was sizing him up, and it worried him. Mae was very short, even more so than Ellana, and her hair was iron grey. Even so, she had an intimidating presence about her, as if she were accustomed to issuing orders and having them obeyed. The staff she carried looked well-worn. Solas could see so many resemblances to Ellana in the color of her eyes, her straight posture, the way she gripped her staff, and—most of all—the humorous quirk of her mouth. “Call me Solas,” he answered.

“You must be here for the tea,” Mae said. “Ellana assured me I’d be seeing you.”

Solas rankled inwardly. Lavellan was always so damned confident. And yet, here he was, proving her right again. “Name your price. I’m willing to pay a great deal.”

Mae chuckled and Solas had the sudden feeling that he had been outplayed. “The Dalish don’t do much buying and selling. If you want the tea, you’ll have to barter for it.”

Uncomfortable out of his sheltering shadows and anxious to return to the refuge of his base, Solas decided to try intimidating the Keeper. The Dalish hadn’t spent centuries fearing him for nothing. He drew himself up straight and let Mythal’s power shine blue in his eyes. “You will not make an exception for the Dread Wolf, who sealed away your gods and created the Veil and the Fade?” he demanded.

Mae did not respond as expected. Solas was stunned into silence by the sharp crack of the Keeper’s staff against his skull.

“I don’t care if you’re Elgar’nan himself,” Mae retorted. “If you want my tea, you’ll have to trade. Besides, Ellana told me all that horseshit about you and the gods was a misunderstanding. Follow me if you want to make a deal.” She motioned him on, and Solas was too startled to object. His forehead throbbed and he wondered if it would bruise.

He followed quietly, cowed at first, until curiosity got the better of him. “Does it not trouble you that your sacred tales have been wrong about me for centuries?”

Mae laughed. “Fen’Harel the freedom fighter sounds like an interesting story to me, and the gods haven’t answered for so long that I don’t care much about them being terrible. But it seems to me you’ve done a great job of making yourself a god of nightmares and misfortune. Maybe the Dalish weren’t so wrong after all.”

This was more of what Solas had expected. Now there would surely be a lecture about how foolish and futile his plans were. He waited several minutes as the silence hung between them, but Mae didn’t seem to have anything else to say.

Finally, they stopped at the edge of an empty pasture. “Here we are,” she said.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“The first task you’re undertaking for me. If you want the tea, you’ll have to do all three.”

“I thought you said we were trading.”

“We are. Your time for my tea.”

He fought back a groan. “What do you need me to do?”

“All of our halla have escaped to the fields nearby. We’re too close to the local farms, and they’ll likely be shot by the _shemlen_ farmers if we don’t catch them. I want you to round up the herd.”

It was a task that could take days for an ordinary mortal to complete. But the Trickster had other plans. Solas murmured a few words in elvhen and the fields echoed with the howling of wolves. Within minutes, the halla had been herded back into their pasture, pursued by the servants of Fen’Harel.

Mae shook her head. “Leave it to the Dread Wolf to find a shortcut. Call off your dogs and I’ll lock up the pasture, now that you’ve frightened the halla out of their wits.”

“I never cared much for Ghilan’nain,” Solas muttered. But he stepped to the pasture’s edge as the wolves vanished back to the fields. With a few more words of elvhen from Solas, the halla stopped bucking and bleating in terror. Solas turned to Mae. “Your halla will remember this as nothing but a nightmare. But they will be less likely to stray, from fear of the wolves.”

“The next task it is, then.” She led the way to the mouth of a cave.

“What is this?” Solas asked.

“An amulet that belonged to one of the boys from my clan was stolen last week. The thief fled in here.” She gestured to the cave mouth. “The poor idiot almost certainly died in there. Most people do. I want you to find the amulet if it’s still there.”

Solas was a bit concerned about Mae’s intention to send him into the local death trap of a cave, but he was fairly certain she knew he would be in no danger. Still, he had no intention of venturing inside. The Veil was thin around the cave, so he called to the spirits that lingered just on the other side. A spirit of curiosity answered eagerly. They exchanged a few words and Solas watched as the spirit disappeared into the cave.

Mae looked astonished. “What was that?”

“A spirit of curiosity,” Solas replied, unperturbed. “They saw the thief fall to his death in the cave. I promised them a trinket if they retrieved the amulet.”

“Well, I never,” Mae said under her breath. Then, to Solas, “What sort of ‘trinket’ would a spirit of the Fade want, exactly?”

“A spool of thread,” Solas said, taking it from his cloak pocket. “The spirit is very childlike and fascinated with objects that are commonplace to you and I.”

Mae let out a bark of laughter. “You’re telling me that the Dread Wolf carries a needle and thread in his pockets?”

“No traveler worth his salt would not.”

“You’re smarter than you look,” Mae told him, still laughing.

Solas glared at her, indignant, but the Keeper only cackled more at the sight of his expression. He hoped the spirit wouldn’t be much longer finding the amulet. Just as his thoughts strayed that way, the spirit returned with the amulet in hand. Solas thanked him and gave them the spool of thread. The spirit happily took it and drifted to a spot beneath a nearby tree to begin unwinding it.

“I guess you’ll have to hope you don’t tear your trousers on the way back to your secret base,” Mae teased Solas as she watched the spirit go.

“Can we get on with the third task?” Solas asked tersely.

“Well, come on then.” Mae now set out toward the woods.

Solas found himself feeling grateful for all the walking he was accustomed to, because he felt like he had trekked across half the Free Marches with Mae in the space of this afternoon. The sun was getting low, and he was starting to wonder if they would be out until night fell.

Finally, they stopped at the edge of a clearing. One that was familiar to Solas.

“Would you be so kind as to explain what we’re doing out here?” he asked.

“Then you recognize it,” Mae said. “Good.”

“You’ve brought me to one of your altars to Fen’Harel. What do you expect me to do here?”

Mae held a finger to her lips. “Shh. They’ll be here soon.”

“Who?” Solas demanded. His patience was just about worn out.

“The youngsters. I’m sure Ellana told you about your cultists.”

A shiver of realization came over Solas. “The ones who are having orgies around my altars?”

“The very same. I knew she wouldn’t be able to resist telling you.”

Solas coldly repeated his question: “Again, what do you expect me to do here?”

Mae put her hands on her hips. “Well, I don’t want you to join the ‘rituals,’ if that’s what you’re afraid of. Your followers have been nothing but a nuisance lately. I’d like you to put the fear of their god in them.”

“How exactly?”

“You’re the Dread Wolf. Figure it out. I just want you to chase them off and scare them enough that they’ll stop trashing the altars and stealing the clan’s statues. I won’t mention what we had to clean off those statues last time.”

Solas shuddered.

Boisterous laughter and torchlight from the clearing signaled the cultists’ arrival.

“They’re here,” Mae whispered. “Get to it. Just don’t hurt any of them.”

“You should go now,” Solas warned.

“Before you become too terrifying for my mortal eyes to behold?”

Solas looked at her pointedly.

She snorted. “I’m not missing this show. But you’d better get out there before they start stripping.” She peered around a tree. “They’re barely wearing anything as it is.”

Solas shuddered again. Then, feeling more than a little embarrassed with someone watching, shrugged off his mortal form. The howl of the giant, six-eyed wolf echoed to the ends of the Free Marches.

There was excited shouting from the cultists in the clearing. Solas heard someone yell, “Fen’Harel is observing our rites!” A cheer went up.

Solas stepped into the break in the trees around the clearing. There was a moment of complete silence before the cheers turned to screams. A group of half-naked, recently drunken Dalish teenagers stood sober and horror-struck, staring several dozen feet up at the Dread Wolf. Solas could not help but see the humor in the situation as they fled before his monstrous form, dropping their offerings on the ground, and scrambling away into the woods.

When he was sure they had gone, Solas shifted back to his own form. As he used a handful of spells to douse the bonfire and torches the cultists had left behind, Mae came out as well. She was laughing so hard he wasn’t sure she’d keep breathing. “Is our bargain complete?” Solas asked her.

“Come back to the encampment for your tea,” Mae said. “You’ve more than earned it. Those teenagers will think twice about partying like that, at least,” she said. She grabbed the smaller pair of stone wolf figures from the base of the altar. “And I got the statues back again, without the cleanup being necessary. Hopefully they won’t go missing again.” She led the way back to camp.

Upon returning to his base, Solas found that he didn’t feel as victorious as he expected. He had achieved what he went to the Dales to do, yes. But he felt restless and out of sorts. He brewed a cup of tea, but drinking it didn’t help his focus at all. Eventually, after he had paced five laps around his office, he realized he was lonely. Mae was the first person he had seen in a very long time who had treated him like an ordinary person, not like the fearful Dread Wolf. And speaking with her, no matter how aggravating, had been. . .pleasant.

Mae reminded him of Ellana, but she also reminded him of Varric, who constantly teased him, insisted on calling him Chuckles, and then skewered Solas’s cold rationality with a hopeful anecdote. Solas did not want to open that door, to let in his memories of Skyhold, but he found that he was too tired to stop it. He thought of them all, from Sera, hotheaded defender of the meek, to Dorian, the sharp-tongued Tevinter mage, who remained cheerful and open-minded in the midst of the world falling apart, to Blackwall, a man with nearly as many secrets and lies as Solas himself, who wanted so badly to be a man of honor in spite of the wrong he had done. Cassandra, a voice of reason and kindness in the squabbling, bloodthirsty Chantry. Iron Bull, who gave up kin and country for his friends. Cole, a spirit of compassion, stepping willingly into a heartless world that mangled his kind into demons. All of them, so flawed and wonderful, and Solas had been accepted among them, even loved by them. He wondered how many of them would give him the same welcome Sera had. Feeling empty and ashamed, burdened with happy memories and a bleak present, Solas laid his head down and wept.

His tears had barely dried when an agent arrived with news: “Sir, we’ve located Inquisitor Lavellan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to operativelm for the opening quote of this chapter.


	7. Sleight of Hand

" _When the Snake-Kings, the Creators and Masters of the old Elves (why else would there be Images of them in the Dales), began their war with the Tevinter and their Moon Men allies, there was One of the Moon People who infiltrated the Snake-King stronghold of old Arlathan, the great machine known as Anaris that was capable of disrupting the Tides and_ knocking _the moon out of Orbit. This Agent was a KING of the Moon Men, and, taking the Shape of a wolf (howling at the moon was how he communicated with his people), this King freed the elves and led a great Rebellion against the Ophidian Masters, destroying the great fortress and the machine for good. The Snake-Kings named him Fen'Harel for his deeds, and his Cult has been operating ever since, keeping a watchful Eye to the ground in case the ENEMY returns!"_

\- _The Dawn of the Elves: The Mystery of the Cult of Fen'Harel_ , Brother Burbadur [excerpt]

It had been a long day and Ellana was looking forward to resting. Now that Solas was barely sleeping, she could at least count on the Fade being peaceful. She drifted to sleep only to find a familiar face waiting for her. The wolf looked at her with pleading eyes.

She sighed. “Are we doing this again?” Almost nothing aggravated her more than Solas appearing in her dreams as a wolf. It meant that he wanted to stare pathetically at her and disappear the minute she tried to speak to him. After the first couple of times he did this, she had started to yell, “And _another thing!_ ” every time he showed his face, just to see how quickly he would rush to escape. Once, she threw rocks at him until he ran. This time, unfortunately, they were in her house in Kirkwall, so throwing rocks was not an option.

To her surprise, Solas shuddered and resumed his own form. He sat himself on her floor as if he were too worn out to stand, even in the Fade. “No,” he replied to her question. “I came to speak to you this time.”

“Did you run out of tea?” she asked, keeping her eyes on the floor. She was too tired to deal with him. It had been a long day and she was in pain.

“Thanks to your clan, I have more than enough of the stuff.” She didn’t need to look in his direction to know he shuddered.

“You actually met with them. How did that go?”

“I bore a bruise from your Keeper’s staff for days afterward. But that is not what I came to talk about. I’m here to warn you.”

She glanced at him, finally, and noticed that he was awkwardly avoiding looking at her, as well. What a ridiculous pair they were. “What are you warning me about?”

“My agents will raid your house soon. We know where you are. I would suggest running.”

“Why?” She stared at her legs dangling over the edge of her bed and began idly kicking the air.

Solas seemed fixated on the floor tile just ahead of him. “I haven’t decided what to do with you yet.”

“You could kill me,” she said, examining the fingers on each of her hands in turn as if they were fascinating.

“I don’t think so.”

“That’s really the best option. I’ll just continue annoying you otherwise.”

“I would miss you too much.”

Ellana’s teeth came down hard on her lip, catching any careless word or sound that might have escaped. “What a selfish thing to say.” Her voice didn’t waver, though she wiped blood from her mouth.

“I know it is. But I don’t care.”

“I don’t want to kill you either,” she told him. “I hope you know that I will if I have to, though.”

“I know. But may I ask, what’s stopping you?”

Ellana looked at him now. Solas sat cross-legged on the floor, eyes still fastened to the tiles, unwilling to look up at her, to betray any sense of how he felt. Both of them were too tired to lie.

“I believe you’re better than this.” There was a heavy silence between them. “And I still love you,” she murmured. “I thought you would’ve guessed.”

“I did not dare to hope.”

“Well, for what it’s worth, I do. Thanks for telling me about your agents. I’ll do my best to outrun them. Which I guess I should get started on.”

“Be safe, _vhenan_ ,” Solas said, just before Ellana roused herself.

It was late, but her news couldn’t wait. She dressed quickly, then hurried and pounded on Briala’s door. Two drowsy elves answered.

“What’s the matter?” Briala asked.

“It’s Solas. He’s found me.”

“ _Fenedhis_ ,” Merrill swore.

The others looked at her in surprise.

“What?” she said.

“I’ve never heard you curse,” Ellana said.

Merrill’s face reddened. “I know swears. I’m just not very good at the human ones.”

“Focus,” Briala said. “We need to plan.”

“What will you do?” Ellana asked. “If you leave on your own, you might be able to get away, since they’re here for me.”

Briala took Merrill’s hand. “I’m not going anywhere without her.”

“What do you suggest we do?”

“Does your spymaster keep safehouses for you? Surely we could shelter in one of those.”

“I meant after that.”

“Um, shouldn’t we get to someplace safe first?” Merrill asked meekly.

Ellana nodded. “You two get ready. We should warn Varric before we leave. If he doesn’t hear from us and finds the house ransacked, he’ll think we’re dead.”

The three of them readied their things and fled to Varric’s house in a matter of minutes. Thankfully, he was working late.

“What’s the trouble?” Varric asked, looking up from his paperwork.

“We have to leave—Briala and Merrill and me,” Ellana said breathlessly.

Varric laid down his pen. “Whoa. Hold on a minute. What’s the rush all of a sudden?”

“Solas knows where I am.”

“How do you know that?”

“Solas told me.”

Varric looked stricken. “Well that’s not good. We’ll have to get the three of you out of here, but you can’t rely on one of the safehouses for long. Where do you plan on going?”

“I’m not sure, but we don’t have time to figure it out now.”

“Listen, running off without a plan—”

Whatever Varric was about to say was cut off by a sound like a thunderclap as all the light went out of the house. The screams of several servants rang out and were sharply cut off.

Ellana and the others crowded behind Varric’s desk. “It looks like your boyfriend’s here,” Varric whispered to Ellana.

“The Dread Wolf?” Merrill gasped.

“Shh,” Ellana hissed. “Varric, can you distract them long enough for me to get out?”

“Can I distract them?” Varric repeated. “Do you know who you’re asking?”

“Thanks, Varric,” she said. “We’ll have to hope we can make it to the safehouse. It’s in Darktown.”

“No,” Merrill said. “Come with me.”

“What?”

“There’s no time!” Merrill said, pulling Ellana and Briala along behind her.

As they ran from the room, Ellana glimpsed the cloaked forms of Solas’s agents against the moonlit window.

“What the hell do you people think you’re doing in my house?” Ellana heard Varric ask. “You’d better start talking unless you want to meet Bianca.” She desperately hoped that Solas’s agents wouldn’t hurt him.

The three women were in the Hightown streets in what seemed like seconds. They fled through the torchlit night, and Ellana realized with a sinking feeling what they were about to do. The alienage was lit as bright as noon by all the lanterns set around the _vhenandahl_. In the light, Ellana saw that three of Solas’s agents were still pursuing them closely. Merrill threw open the door to her house. “Quickly,” she said, “through the eluvian!”

They leapt headlong through the mirror. Ellana expected the same cramped, stifling darkness of the closet they had found before, but instead they landed with a splash somewhere outdoors. Ellana barely had time to register the difference before she turned and shattered the eluvian behind them with her ironbark fist. 

“Oh!” Merrill cried out at the state of the mirror.

“I’m sorry, Merrill,” Ellana said, gasping for breath. “I think _your_ mirror will be fine. But I had to stop them from following.”

“It’s alright. I fixed it once. I can do it again if I need to.”

“The real question is, where are we?” Ellana said as they clambered out of the fountain.

They seemed to be in an enormous garden, filled with plants that glowed faintly in the light of the setting moon. Thankfully, their surroundings were deserted, likely because it was after midnight.

Briala was the one who realized first, pointing up at the floating spire that towered above them. “Look. We’re in Minrathous.”

“ _Mythal enaste_ ,” Merrill murmured.

“How did we get here, and not to the closet we were in before?”

Merrill looked embarrassed. “Briala mentioned that the eluvian’s pairing could be shifted so that it opened to another location, so I moved it to someplace nearer to your friend.”

Ellana stared at Merrill. “You’re telling me that you shifted where the eluvian would open—with no training—and moved it nearer to the location of someone you’ve never met, whose location you should have no way of knowing?”

“Exactly!” Merrill said cheerfully.

“But. . . _how?_ ” 

“It was easy, really. Magical objects all have a trace of their maker’s magic in them. You showed me the crystal your friend gave you, so I followed the feel of his magic.”

“That’s—” words failed Ellana. “You’re really talented, Merrill. I don’t know if anyone’s ever told you.”

“Hawke mentioned it a few times, but I think she was just being nice. Aveline mentioned it once, but she was being rude.”

Ellana pulled the communication crystal from under her cloak. “It’s a good thing I always wear this,” she muttered. She contacted Dorian.

“If it isn’t my favorite Inquisitor,” Dorian said brightly. “What’s the latest news from Kirkwall, my dear?”

“I need a favor,” Ellana said, unable to keep the worry from her voice.

“You sound like something’s the matter. Are you in danger?”

“Yes and no.”

“That gets us nowhere. Tell me.”

“I’m in Tevinter.”

“Oh.” Dorian was apparently speechless beyond the monosyllable.

“I still need your help,” Ellana said.

After a long pause, Dorian said, “Of course. Where exactly are you? I’m dying to hear the entire story behind this.”

Ellana looked around. “We seem to be in a garden. There are glowing flowers?”

“The public gardens,” he said. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.” 

“Thank you, Dorian.”

“No need to thank me for welcoming a friendly visit.”

“You’re a good friend, Dorian.”

“The best, by far,” Dorian said. The crystal went dark. 

* * *

Solas was not pleased to see an angry Abelas in his office first thing in the morning. He suspected he knew what his general had to say.

“Sir, the team sent to capture Lavellan was unsuccessful.”

“Then she has evaded us again.” He tried his best not to sound relieved.

“They were not meant to have been warned.”

Again, his general was proving too good at seeing through him. “What makes you think they were warned?”

“This is the first time a target has managed to evade us so easily. Perhaps if you had gone yourself, this might not have happened.”

“We cannot be certain of that. How were they able to escape?”

“Lavellan and two allies fled through an eluvian. No one knows where it led.”

That was a surprise. “An eluvian? All of ours are accounted for.”

“It’s not one of ours. It looked to be one of the mirrors Tevinter stole several centuries ago. We’ve taken the item from the house where it was found. There were also several elvhen relics in the location.”

“Interesting. It seems Lavellan has managed to find a powerful ally.”

When he ventured to the dungeon later to see what had been brought back from Kirkwall, Solas was furious with himself. While he had had his reasons for not searching as carefully as he could have for Ellana, his overlooking her ally from Kirkwall was inexcusable. His agents had cleaned out her trove of elvhen artifacts and now he stood in awe of the sheer number of them. The woman had managed to collect nearly enough ancient elvhen pieces to rival his own store of them. When he questioned his agents to discover what they had learned about the house’s owner, they said she was well-liked among the city elves, was an outcast from a Dalish clan, and that she was known mostly as the eccentric schoolteacher.

A schoolteacher. That was the extent of her reputation. But this elf woman had an unrivaled knowledge of elvhen magical devices. Solas had ordered the crown jewel of her collection, a restored eluvian, brought for Morrigan to examine. She was surprisingly quiet upon first seeing the mirror. Solas suspected she was trying not to appear impressed.

“This is certainly one of the Tevinter mirrors,” Morrigan said. “‘Tis a good enough restoration of the device, but these mirrors Tevinter stole are all but useless. The old magisters bastardized the mirrors, pairing them more like doorways. It’s a much less sophisticated system than using the Crossroads.”

“You said this mirror had been restored?”

“‘Tis an odd story. The mirror was broken once and then repaired with blood magic.”

Solas gave her a puzzled look. “How did you discover that?”

Morrigan laughed. “I know who it was that restored this mirror. If you had paid more attention to _The Tale of the Champion,_ you might know as well: this Merrill Sabrae was close friends with the Champion of Kirkwall.”

“Marian Hawke’s friend? I had nearly forgotten the Dalish blood mage.”

“Forgetting the Dalish seems to be a habit of yours. At least from the sounds of the gossip among the agents.”

Solas was indignant. “What have you heard?”

“Only that many of your soldiers are being questioned about whether our cause is military or religious in nature. Some of them are being asked exactly how they serve you.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means their families want to know if this so-called Dread Wolf is keeping a host of lovers in place of a fighting force.”

Every curse word he had ever heard sprang to Solas’s lips and he fought to contain his fury. “What would make them think such a thing?”

“Perhaps the Chantry discussion you have yet to address.” Morrigan held up a book: _The Goddess With Two Faces: An Examination of the Fertility Cult of Fen’Harel_ , by (Formerly) Sister Laudine.

“Where did you get that?” Solas demanded.

“A dear friend in Val Royeaux who is kind enough to send me all the writings on Mythal she can find. ‘Tis a funny thing how the Chantry makes no distinction between your agents and the Dalish cultists now on the rise.”

“Ellana’s nonsense again.”

“The nonsense you did nothing to stop?”

“I did not ask for your condescension, Morrigan. Did you discover where the eluvian leads?”

“This mirror leads nowhere. Likely, the device it was paired to was destroyed when Lavellan and her allies escaped.”

“Can you venture a guess as to where it went, at least?”

“They are likely somewhere in Tevinter. The stolen mirrors are mostly to be found here.”

“Then they are not far.”

Solas left Morrigan to her work with the mirror and returned to his duties.

* * *

Dorian tracked them down in barely half an hour. Ellana was concerned about being out at night in Tevinter, but the streets were no busier than in Kirkwall. Dorian was very happy to see her, sweeping her into a hug immediately.

“It’s been too long, Ellana,” he chided. “But we should get to safety before we talk.” He noticed Merrill and Briala. “You’ve brought friends?”

“Merrill’s an old friend. And Briala you might remember from Halamshiral.”

“Ah. Again, no time for introductions. Safety first.” He grinned at Ellana as he led the way down the street. “Charter and Harding have been training me.”

“I noticed you’ve learned to keep your voice down. Are they here?”

“On and off. I’m considered the liaison between the Inquisitor and the Inquisition agents, you know. One of the perks of being the Magisterium’s pariah is that no one notices who comes and goes at my house.” He stopped to unlock the door to an enormous mansion. “Here we are.”

Ellana had thought her Hightown mansion was overwhelming, but Dorian’s home was far grander. It seemed to be all marble fountains, enormous staircases, and gilt mirrors. She suspected she could comfortably house her entire clan in the rooms on the first of the three floors.

“Make yourselves comfortable,” Dorian said. “The place is too showy for me, but I had little choice in inheriting the Pavus estate. Unfortunately, my mother had no time to write me out of the will.”

“Why would your mother do that?” Merrill asked as the three of them collapsed into thickly cushioned chairs.

“I’m the family disgrace,” Dorian replied. “It comes from wanting to reform our backward traditions into something less villainous. But I don’t think we’ve met.”

Merrill blushed at having every eye on her. “I’m Merrill Sabrae. Ellana and I met years ago, but Varric introduced us again. I’ve been trying to help her defeat the Dread Wolf, but all I’ve really done was bring her here—and I’m talking too much.”

“Not at all, my dear,” Dorian said kindly. “I myself will talk endlessly when given the opportunity. Welcome to my home, Merrill. I see you are a mage?”

“Yes. And so are you,” Merrill observed. “Are you a blood mage?”

Dorian scowled. “Always the first question.” He sighed dramatically. “No. Just because I am a Tevinter mage does not mean I practice blood magic.”

Merrill looked embarrassed. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to offend. I only asked because it would be nice to meet another one.”

“Another. . . ?”

“Blood mage. I am one.”

Dorian’s eyes widened. “A Dalish blood mage? How fascinating. I would have thought your people would frown on that.” 

Merrill nodded sadly. “I wanted to help my people, to show them what the Dalish could be. They cast me out because they didn’t want to understand. That’s why I went to Kirkwall with Hawke.”

“Then you’re one of Hawke’s friends?”

“Hawke was one of the best friends I’ve ever had. She still writes to me from Weisshaupt, but not often.”

“I was glad to have met her,” Dorian said. “She is an incredible woman.” He turned his attention to Briala, “And speaking of incredible women, I am pleased to welcome you into my house as well, Lady Briala. I can’t imagine what misadventures brought you together with Ellana, but you are welcome here.”

“ _Ma serannas_ , _messere_ ,” Briala said with a graceful bow.

Ellana lost track of the conversation at that point, her eyelids having grown too heavy to hold open. Being chased by Solas’s agents had done nothing for her exhausted body. She only realized she had dozed off when she started awake to Dorian lightly shaking her shoulder.

“I’m certain you all want to rest,” he said, “so we’ll talk business in the morning. I’ll have the servants show you to your rooms.”

Ellana was thankful to finally sink into a bed and drift to sleep, undisturbed by Solas or any other interruptions. This time, the Fade held no shadowed woods with wolves lurking in their depths.

* * *

It had been a while since Solas had gone on a mission himself, but he had tired of being holed up at the base. He also desperately wanted to get away from Morrigan and Abelas. Exhaustion seemed to be a permanent state for the time being, and it made him more short-tempered than he liked. He was currently running on tea and adrenaline and constantly wondered if it would be sustainable for long enough to complete the work ahead of him.

This mission was another he insisted on doing alone. He had learned his lesson from Hunter Fell, though, and would be dressed as an Agent of Fen’Harel, rather than relying on an elaborate disguise for safety. Simply keeping his face concealed would serve well enough. There was a rumor of a loose-tongued thief in the Minrathous underground who was boasting of having stolen an elvhen spellbook from one of the greatest strongholds in the city some years before. With some covert scouting, Solas had learned where he was most likely to find the thief, a woman who went by Spinner.

Andraste’s Pyre was a tavern that served as one of several well-known refuges for the thieves and assassins that made up Tevinter’s underground. The Shadowed Hand, one of the most prominent thieves’ guilds in the city, financed the place and kept it bristling with heavily armed guards. It was risky asking a thief to speak about a job in such a place. The guilds ensured their members knew it was a death sentence to brag publicly about a job, even one from years before. Solas would have to be careful. 

It was surprisingly calming to walk through the crowded streets of Minrathous, a deep hood ensuring his anonymity, trusting in the wolf’s-head cloak pin he wore to keep anyone from accosting him. Word was out all over Thedas that the Agents of Fen’Harel were not to be troubled in any way. This had backfired on some occasions, when an upstart decided to earn their reputation by attacking one of the elves, but Solas had heard the stories of how badly his agents had thrashed those opponents. 

Andraste’s Pyre was situated in a neighborhood that looked like a jumble of rubble dropped by some careless giant onto the side of Minrathous. The building itself was a weathered grey stone facade that looked ready to blow over from the lightest breath of wind. The place was marked only by a crudely painted sign bearing what was meant to be a depiction of Andraste’s martyrdom. Religious names for taverns were common enough, but Solas suspected the Shadowed Hand were not particularly pious, especially since the place was more commonly known as the Bitch’s Bonfire. 

Inside, it looked like some sort of palace, all ebony and marble, a showcase for the wealth of the Shadowed Hand. According to his agents’ report, Solas was likely to find Spinner in the back gaming room. Her nickname referred to her reputation for elaborate lies. She was said to spin yarns fit for kings. This was probably one of the reasons she hadn’t been offed by the Shadowed Hand yet for telling the story of stealing what sounded like the _Arlathvhen_. Most people dismissed her stories for the wild fantasies they usually were. But Solas knew that just as the easiest way to conceal a lie was to bury it in truth, the easiest way to slip truth under watchful eyes was to embed it in colorful lies. According to his agents, he would know Spinner by the enormous garnet spider brooch she always wore. 

Solas spotted the brooch from across the room. Spinner, a dark-haired surface dwarf, sat at a table, expertly shuffling a deck of cards. A man in flashy emerald brocade stormed from that direction. He shot a pointed look at Solas. “Girl’s a bloody fiend with those cards. Don’t wager anything you don’t mind losing,” he advised. 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Solas replied tactfully, then watched the man flinch back as he noticed the wolf’s-head pin. 

The man’s angry demeanor fell away and he strode away quietly, apparently more interested in escaping an Agent of Fen’Harel than in bemoaning his wounded pride. 

Solas seated himself at Spinner’s table and she flashed him a bright smile. “Well, hello there,” she said cheerfully. “You here for a game? I’m not used to playing people whose faces I can’t see, but I can adjust.”

Solas gestured to his cloak pin, then to hers. “I believe we are both accustomed to a degree of anonymity. Especially in places like this.”

“Not a problem, sir, though that pin you’re wearing has a funny reputation. Some people associate it with fearing for their life, others think it’s got something to do with some new sex cult out in the Dales. Since you’re here, I’m guessing it’s the first one. We don’t get many Dalish or many sex cultists around here. I think Minrathous has a special district for the sex cultists. So as long as you promise not to live up to the rumors of beating people senseless, we’ll get along just fine.”

Solas bristled at the mention of the cult. “As long as you don’t give me cause, I promise to refrain from harming anyone.” 

“Sounds good to me. What’s your game? Wicked Grace? Antivan Roundhouse? Demon’s Bluff?”

“Diamondback,” Solas requested.

“Diamondback it is.” Spinner held out the deck. “Cut the cards, please.”

Solas obeyed, returning the cards to her promptly.

“What’re you betting?” Spinner asked.

“I’m here for information. If I win, you tell me what I want to know. If I lose, you can have this.” He laid a gem-hilted dagger on the table between them. 

“Where did you. . .no, I don’t want to know,” she said, eyeing the dagger appreciatively. 

The cards were dealt and Solas realized that Spinner did not seem to be cheating as he had expected. With each turn, the game followed the usual rhythm of Diamondback, except that Spinner kept chattering away as she had before. He wondered if she meant to throw him off with her banter. If that was her plan, it only made him focus more closely on her cards. He hoped that she had not yet noticed the three cards he had slipped out of the deck. 

A turn from the game’s conclusion, they were briefly interrupted by an attendant who warned Spinner that there was a man who looked to be “guild muscle” watching her. She brushed off the warning, but Solas noted that the man did seem to be watching Spinner closely and looked like he could prove dangerous.

“I don’t let things like that bother me,” Spinner said as they resumed their game. “At one time or another, I’ve had all seven guilds breathing down my neck. They’re nothing compared to the Carta.”

“So I’ve heard,” Solas murmured. He glanced at his hand and realized the cards were not the same ones he had been holding before. So that was her strategy. Spinner must have swapped his hand in the brief glance he had taken at the man across the room. Little matter, as he slid the cards he had snatched earlier into his hand and came out on top anyway.

Shock flashed across Spinner’s face as quick as her card trick before she composed herself. “This game’s yours, elfy. What do you want to know?”

He lowered his voice. “A book taken years ago from Castellum Tenebris. Who ordered the job?”

Spinner laughed. “I guess you don’t know how I earned my name, then.” She leaned in conspiratorially and whispered, “It was a job for the Black Divine’s lackeys. They wanted the book for his personal library. The Divine even loaned us his private flight of purple griffons for the occasion.”

Solas sat silently until his frustration had simmered down. Of course she would lie. It was only fair, after he had tricked her out of the dagger. “Who was the man across the room who helped you cheat?” he asked.

“A friend’s brother. What’s it to you? You still won, cheater.”

He let out a bark of laughter. “That I did. Why don’t we forget the game? I can offer you a bribe. The dagger for the truth.”

She glared at him. “How dare you offer me a deal I actually want?” She sat looking at the prize in front of her, then hissed, “Meet me out back.”

Solas grabbed the dagger before she could lay a hand on it and left by the same door he entered, ducking into the back alley. Spinner was waiting for him.

“The job was for a magister,” she told him. “Gaius Varinius. Awful bastard, worse than any Carta boss I’ve ever met. It was back when I was still with the Deathroot Crown, the biggest baddest thieves’ guild in town. That was the job that made me quit the Crowns. But the guy we stole it from was worse than the one we stole it for, if you can believe it. Anyway, that’s who’s got it, far as I know.”

“Gaius Varinius,” Solas repeated. “What was the name of the book?”

“I dunno. Something elvhen. I think it was a word I’ve heard the Dalish use, Arl-something.”

“ _Arlathvhen_?” Solas breathed.

“Yeah, that’s it. Can I have my dagger now? Some of the thugs out here are starting to look antsy about what type of job we’re setting up. It’s time for me to get out of here.”

Solas handed over the dagger. “My thanks,” he said.

“The pleasure was all mine.” She took the dagger, then continued nonchalantly, “Just so you know, if any of this gets out, they’ll be finding this pretty dagger in your back, cheater.” She winked at Solas, then disappeared down the shadowed street.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to operativelm for the chapter's opening quote.


	8. On the Brink

" _No._ "

\- _Review: The Dawn of the Elves_ , Brother Genitivi [full text]

Ellana slept until late in the afternoon the next day. She shuffled groggily out of bed, hoping there might still be some hope of breakfast. Merrill and Briala were already seated on the veranda outside the kitchen, quietly nursing cups of tea. They looked almost as worn out as she felt.

Ellana went out to join them. She poured herself a cup of tea and grabbed some sort of cinnamon pastry the kitchen staff had set in a basket on the table. After half a cup of her tea, Ellana was just starting to feel awake and ready to attempt eating.

That was about the time Dorian appeared. “How are you feeling?” he asked.

Ellana grimaced. “A little like I’ve been run over by a herd of halla.”

He laughed. “That bad?”

She gave a weary nod.

“Considering you just jumped through a mirror to escape your lover and ended up halfway across the world, that’s understandable. Speaking of which, I intended to ask you and your friends about your efforts against Solas. What have you been up to since Val Royeaux? I’ve been having the best time reading the books you sent me from that trip.”

“I should let Merrill fill you in on our spellwork, and Briala can tell you about the tactical stuff.” Ellana took a big bite of her pastry.

Dorian looked to Briala and Merrill. “Ladies, do you mind if I join you?” When they waved him over, Dorian pulled up a chair. “I’d love to hear about what you’ve been doing to stop Solas, starting with this incredible spell Ellana mentioned.”

Merrill smiled shyly. “There’s a book—I can show it to you if you’d like—that my clan kept. It’s a spell for walking the Fade like a dreamer and Ellana and I have been using it against the Dread Wolf.”

“You said you have the book with you? I would love to take a look. That’s quite a feat of magic.”

“I just read the words. Ellana supported the spell and used it to find Solas.”

“A word to the wise, my dear. Never downplay your magic. You should take pride in your work.”

Merrill smiled and stared down at her hands. “Once Ellana was able to keep Solas awake enough, Briala took over.”

Taking that as her cue, Briala spoke up. “Ellana and I devised a strategy of sending Solas tea, along with the Chantry books. She prepared the packages and I sent them to my agents, who planted them outside the doors of Solas’s bases.”

Dorian held up a hand to interject. “So you still have agents on the inside?”

“Yes. Enough to have begun recruiting from within the Agents of Fen’Harel.”

Dorian let out a hearty laugh. “Well, that will be a nasty surprise for our clever friend.”

Briala gave a broad smile. “Not only that, but once Solas started drinking the tea we sent, my agents cut off his supply. According to every report, there was no tea to be found, except with the Dalish.”

“That’s brilliant! And he has no idea his bases are crawling with enemy agents!”

“It’s worked surprisingly well so far, but we still haven’t found his main base. Only a handful of agents are stationed there, but I’m hoping we might be successful in recruiting some of Solas’s inner circle.”

“It sounds as though it’s just a matter of time. What a shame Charter and Harding aren’t here to hear this.”

Ellana took a break from munching on pastries to ask, “Where are they, anyway?”

“I can barely keep up,” Dorian admitted. “Last I heard, Charter was back in Nevarra. Harding is likely still in Tevinter, but she hasn’t been to Minrathous in weeks.”

“That’s a shame.”

“It is unfortunate that you missed out on an opportunity to rendezvous, but at least you know they’re working while you rest. Which is what I suspect you all need to do for a while.”

Ellana gave a shaky smile. “I haven’t slept this late in ages.”

“I’d wager a guess you haven’t slept this late since Solas took your arm. By the way, how is your arm?”

The question reminded Ellana that she had slept past the time she would normally take her potions in the morning. She would need her medicine soon, especially since her discomfort was growing as she became more alert. Then she remembered the last place she had seen her medicine: on her bedside table in Kirkwall. “Oh, shit.”

“Something the matter?”

Ellana fought the urge to panic. “My arm is—bearable. But only if I take the potions the healers gave me. Which I left in Kirkwall.”

Briala and Merrill looked stunned, while Dorian immediately began thinking aloud.

“I have a few elfroot potions, but the crystal grace will be tricky. We may have to ask around.” He scrambled to his feet. “Wait right here, I’ll be back with the potions.”

“Thank you again, Dorian,” Ellana called after him.

The elfroot potions did a decent job of alleviating Ellana’s pain, but she was still worse off than usual. She blamed part of it on her decision to shatter the eluvian with her bad arm. Some of the trouble was probably sheer exhaustion, but a lot of it had to do with taking weaker doses of elfroot and the lack of crystal grace, which treated magical ailments. Dorian promised to find an herbalist, and in the meantime, Ellana resigned herself to resting.

* * *

The more Solas thought about the location of the _Arlathvhen_ , the more he wondered if he would ever stop feeling stupid again. After his agents’ wild halla chase across Thedas, searching in every bolthole, smuggler’s den, and auction house from Antiva to Ferelden, it turned out the book was still in Tevinter. Unfortunately, according to their source, it was in the house of one of the most notorious magisters in Minrathous. 

There was a group of men in the city who were considered untouchable. It was unusual to think of men being grouped together by gossip solely because of their rivalry, but that was the norm in Tevinter, it seemed. By virtue of their heinous practices and fearsome reputation, these magisters were spoken of as a group called Absentia Lucis. It was likely that the magisters themselves were unaware of the existence of the group, as they never knowingly cooperated with any of the other members. Each of the men were monitored closely by the Minrathous underground. They were considered loose cannons, and no one wanted to get in their way. Most of those tales were simply rumors, but Solas had Spinner’s word that one of those men was in possession of the _Arlathvhen_. 

Danarius, the last known owner of the _Arlathvhen,_ had been the most notorious member of Absentia Lucis. Upon his death, his place was filled by Magister Gaius Varinius, a man known for being the foremost advocate on the Magisterium of legalizing mass blood magic sacrifices. And according to Spinner, Varinius had also claimed the _Arlathvhen_ from Danarius. At least Solas had Spinner’s word that Varinius was not as depraved as his predecessor, for whatever that was worth.

Solas enjoyed the few minutes of peace before Abelas pounded on his office door. He wished he had had the presence of mind to bring a pot of tea with him. His head was throbbing again, despite the four cups of tea he had forced himself to down earlier. 

The expected knock came and Abelas swept into the room. “Now that we’ve found the _Arlathvhen_ , the difficulty lies in getting our hands on the book. It will take some time to scout the house where it’s kept.”

Solas frowned. “Exactly how long do you expect to be waiting?”

“No less than a week, sir. Our network has no contacts inside the place, so the best we can hope for is bribing a servant to let one of our agents inside.”

“What sort of trouble do you anticipate? It usually doesn’t take weeks to scout a building.”

“We haven’t infiltrated a place like this, though. Varinius has much heavier defenses on his house than most magisters.”

“What have you learned?”

“Varinius’ residence is known as Castellum Occultus, and is notoriously difficult to research. The building is enchanted to look like another place entirely. Only those Varinius has invited are given the charm that will reveal the house.”

“That is tricky,” Solas acknowledged. “Is that all you’ve discovered?”

“That, and the man’s penchant for imprisoning apostate refugees.”

“That seems like a more promising lead. It gives you more places to look for information: first, the local inns, where travelers would shelter. Second, the lyrium suppliers. Surely someone with that many mages in their house would demand a large supply.”

“Indeed, sir. I will see to it that our agents follow up on these leads.”

“Good. We are too near our victory to falter now.”

Once Abelas had gone, Solas tried to puzzle out the feeling of impending doom that hung over him. Perhaps it was merely the aftereffect of too much tea and too little sleep. Or it could be Morrigan’s speculation that Ellana and her allies were in Tevinter. If Ellana could stir up Thedas against him so effectively from the other side of the world, what sort of trouble would she cause now that they were in the same country? He only had himself to blame for her escape, but he hadn’t expected her to come running to his doorstep. Curse his confounded luck. Maybe the Dalish were right. Maybe he _was_ the God of Misfortune.

* * *

Several days passed and Dorian had to argue with Ellana that it was acceptable for her and the others to rest. He found an herbalist nearby who could supply Ellana’s potions. The two of them had a short-lived spat over how much he was paying for said potions, but Dorian wouldn’t take no for an answer.

Ellana had begun to think her campaign against Solas had come to an end and she would have to leave the last stages to Charter and Harding. It was hard letting go. She had gotten so used to being the one in charge of saving the world that it was almost impossible to sit back and hope things would turn out right.

That was when Dorian appeared with a note in hand. “I have a lead that I’m sure will interest you,” he said.

“I could use some good news,” Ellana admitted.

“The Lucerni, my organization within the Magisterium, keep a house in one of the less reputable neighborhoods. We use it for our meetings, but it’s also become a bit of an Inquisition hub. Leliana’s people come and go through there all the time. I just had a message from Sera, saying she’s visiting there. It sounds as though she has important information about Solas.”

“We should go, then.”

It was a lengthy carriage ride to the poorer side of Minrathous, and Ellana was once again reminded why she greatly preferred aravels to carriages. Unsurprisingly, Dalish transports enchanted to move smoothly over any terrain were much more comfortable than Tevinter carriages that bumped and rattled over cobblestones. Ellana felt motion sick and shaky by the time they reached the safehouse.

Sera was knitting a pair of socks when they came in. She glanced at them, then held up a hand. “Hold up! I’m counting. Gotta finish a row.”

Dorian and Ellana seated themselves on the couch across from her without saying a word. Once Sera had finished her row, she grinned at them. “Looks like my friends got another one over on Solas before Leliana’s people could!”

“I’m surprised to see you here, Sera,” Dorian said.

“You think your magic city’s too good for me? Well, it’s not. It’s stupid. All your fancy mages cursing everybody and little people’s got nowhere to hide.”

Dorian shook his head. “I hate it as much as you do.”

“Still don’t look lower than you. That’s how my friends move in this place. But it’s dangerous. Gotta dodge slavers, here. Not easy pickings like Val Royeaux.”

“But what brought you here?”

“Came to join the cause. Fight Solas an’ all? Why else’d I be in this shite town full o’ magic?”

“You came to join us? I should have thought you’d want to avoid everything dealing with Solas and the elves. You haven’t exactly been on good terms with your people.”

“Shut it!” Sera snapped. “Don’t have to make sense to you.”

“Why did you come all this way to help?” Ellana asked.

Sera scratched at her hair, eyes on the ground. “Guess it wouldn’t hurt to tell you lot.” She shook her head and looked at Ellana. “Right, well, I couldn’t get Solas outta my business. Dread Wolf’n all that? Yeah, he wanted me. _Me_. ‘Cuz of the Jennies. And ‘cuz I’m an elf. And I reckon he’s lost his friggin’ mind. Me an’ that elfy shite? Nah. All his _elven glory_ and rot’s not for me. I help the little people, yeah, not his fancy sod-all elf pricks from Arlassen or whatever. But, see, he won’t let me alone. Shows up himself to talk, and I give him hell for it.” She snickered. “Bees _all over_. But I start askin’ round, an’ my friends have heard from ‘im, too. Won’t let my lot alone. I didn’t know m’self how many elves the Jennies had. But he wants ‘em all, for his army. I wasn’t gonna just let him snatch up my people! So I start askin’ about his other recruits. Poor folks from alienages don’t know shit about elven glory or what have you, just wanna know where their bread’s comin’ from. Elfier elves from the Dales, sick of bein’ killed or beaten every time they show their faces. Kids, even. It’s dirty. And—I can’t stand that elfy shite. I don’t wanna reclaim anything, I’m just me. Just Sera. Don’t want any digging up dead history. Just wanna help, right? But these folks he’s grabbin’, they’re people like me. Little people, fightin’ for scraps. It’s not right. Had to do somethin’. So here I am, an’ I’ll do whatever I can to stop this rubbish.”

“Solas tried to recruit you?” Ellana asked.

“Yeah, the Jennies were outdoin’ his agents around Orlais.” 

Dorian shook his head. “You’re telling me you were going against the Agents of Fen’Harel in Orlais? And you ran Solas himself off with _bees?_ ”

“Even the Dread Wolf’s afraid of Widdle’s bees,” Sera proclaimed.

Ellana grinned. “Good work, Sera.”

Dorian nodded. “You said you had information for us?”

“Yeah. Kitchen boy, one of Solas’ lot, broke and ran soon as he could get away. Somebody with inside information tipped him off. They’re after some book—name’s written here, with the spot. Just gotta grab it before arsehole’s friends get it first.”

Sera handed over a grimy looking scrap of paper. On it was written, _Arlathvhen, grimoire of the Evanuris. In the house of Magister Gaius Varinius. The book should be taken no later than Wednesday._

Ellana recoiled at the sight of the title. “The grimoire of the Evanuris? Anyone using that for blood magic would have to be insane.” 

Dorian looked disgusted. “Ah. I might have known Varinius was involved in this.”

“Someone you know?” Ellana asked.

“Varinius is a snake. Most of Minrathous hates him. He’s been openly petitioning the Magisterium to repeal the ban on mass sacrifices for years. The rumors say he’s a fanatic who wants to reenact the breach of the Black City. Just the sort of lunatic the Venatori would’ve loved. No one has ousted him from his seat on the Magisterium because they’re all too afraid of him. Anyone who tries to oppose him disappears. A few have shown up with their minds broken. You can imagine what that sort of man would want with a book of ancient elvhen magic.” 

“It almost sounds like some of your dislike is personal,” Ellana pointed out.

“Who would not despise a man like that?” Dorian asked. “But you’re right. He and my father were terrible rivals.”

“The question is how we get the book away from him.”

“A direct approach will certainly fail. You don’t simply walk up and ask to borrow something like this book. He’ll have it locked away in that manor of his, Castellum Occultus. Dreadfully pretentious name. I have an idea for how to get him away from the house, but you’ll need help getting in. I know someone who can help us. My friend Mae Tilani has an apprentice who was taken by Varinius when he first came to Minrathous. He would have more information about that bastard than any of us.”

“Does Varinius keep mages as slaves, then?”

“It’s nearly impossible for a Magister—even one like Varinius—to keep mages enslaved. It’s one of the few things frowned upon by the Imperium. Varinius works around it by offering young apostates a safe haven here in the city. Keeps them like a collection of exotic birds, pampered and well-fed, locked away in gilded cages. In exchange for providing them food, shelter, and an education in magic, he exploits their talents for his own gain.

“He keeps a group of templars, as well, to prevent the mages from escaping. He recruits cruel men from the worst circles and provides them with lyrium. If we’re going to get the book out of his house, the templars will be the biggest impediment. For now, we’ll have to return to my house and wait to speak with Feynriel.” 

* * *

The next time Solas heard from Abelas on Castellum Occultus, things seemed to be progressing well. The agents stationed around Minrathous had managed to not only locate Varinius’ house but had also planted one of their own inside the residence. Everything seemed to be unfolding as Solas wished. 

Unfortunately, Abelas did not seem as encouraged by their progress. He gave Solas an odd look once he finished his report. “Sir,” Abelas said, “are you sure this is what you want?”

Solas cocked a suspicious eyebrow at him. “What do you mean?”

“Are you certain that you want to obtain this grimoire and use it to purge the world?”

Solas rested his head in his hands. “Must we go through this again, Abelas? I have told you time and again that I want nothing more than the restoration of Arlathan.”

“And yet you would not let us lay a hand on Lavellan. Who knows how long she hid in Kirkwall, in plain sight, where you refused to look? If I had not sent agents to scout the last known location of Magister Danarius, we never would have found her there at all.”

“Abelas, I’ve warned you about these wild speculations. And still you seem to think I want Lavellan to sabotage my plans.” Solas held up the cup of tea he had been drinking. “Have you forgotten how much I personally have suffered from her efforts against us?”

“I am only asking you to consider what it is that you want, sir.”

“What I want is to be allowed to succeed in my goal.”

“Of course, sir,” Abelas answered dismissively.

“What will convince you?” Solas demanded.

“Do you think I want to be convinced?”

Solas glared at him. “Why are you speaking so traitorously, Abelas? You accuse me constantly of being disloyal to our cause, and yet you will not raise your hand against me.”

“Come with me,” Abelas said.

Solas followed cautiously, all too aware that he had just suggested violence to Abelas. But his general did not lead him to a dark corner to be knifed out of sight. Instead, they went to the agents’ quarters.

Solas was startled by the amount of activity there. They passed a room where a group of city elves sat playing Wicked Grace. In another, two Dalish women were examining an ironbark bow. This was what Solas had expected: the elves had gathered together, yes, but they remained worlds apart. The Dalish hid away from everyone, clinging desperately to tradition, while the city elves had all but given up everything about their heritage. It was unsurprising that, even here, they stayed separate.

The next room staggered him. Two of the Sentinels had set up a sort of school and seemed to be tutoring others in speaking and reading elvhen. Solas expected to see the ranks of the students full of Dalish, but instead, he realized there were Dalish and city elves scattered through the room, often partnered together, leaning over the same book. He stopped to look at Abelas. “These are your men. What is this?”

“I did not instruct them to do this. It happened on its own. There were issues communicating at first. My men would use elvhen phrases and their followers wouldn’t understand. They also couldn’t read inscriptions in the temples we raided. Some of the Dalish were desperate to learn their own language. There was a surprising amount of interest from the city elves, as well. They set up the school, and it’s grown exponentially.”

“An interesting endeavor. It was wise to close the language gap between your men and the others.”

The next room held city elves instructing the Dalish. “What is happening here?” Solas wanted to know.

“Many of the Dalish are so far removed from society as to have never learned to read and write. Those who desire to learn are being instructed here.”

“I see.”

Abelas led the way down to the forge. The five workers inside were busily crafting weapons. Solas noted _vallaslin_ on the faces of two men and one woman. The others were city elves. All of them were working with ironbark.

Solas looked to his general. “What lesson am I to learn from this?” he called over the noisy hammering.

Abelas led him back out of the room, then replied, “For centuries, the Dalish preserved the working of ironbark, a material used by the elves of Arlathan. Now they’re teaching the city elves how to work the same materials.”

With each room they entered, more and more elves called friendly greetings to Abelas.

“You seem to be very popular with my followers, Abelas,” Solas observed. “Are you threatening me? Trying to prove that my followers would flock to you if only you said the word?”

Abelas sighed. “What will it take to get through to you, sir? I want you to see our people. To recognize them as such. You have secluded yourself for too long, trying to blind yourself to the truth. If you would only come out of that office of yours and speak to the men and women you have gathered, perhaps you would understand better.”

“Would it matter, Abelas? Did I not endure enough of that with the Inquisition? I know these people are elves. They are elves who have suffered the loss of everything we were or ever could be. They barely deserve to be called _elvhen_. The only thing left of their culture is the bastardized scraps the Dalish cling to.” Solas grit his teeth against memories of Ellana’s arguments from two years before. His faith in his prejudice used to be stronger. After Ellana, all he could do to justify his actions was lie to himself and anyone who would listen. 

“Surely you don’t believe that, sir.”

“If you believe otherwise, you have blinded yourself to the truth.”

“I am not the one hiding myself away from everyone, afraid my preconceptions will be challenged, sir. Talk to your people. You will find out which of us is blind to the truth.” Abelas turned and strode through the door before Solas could say another word.

Solas thought ruefully of his threat to have Abelas jailed. From what he had seen, he would be lucky to find anyone among his forces who would be willing to arrest Abelas. What a shocking change from two years earlier, when Abelas and the Sentinels had been even more outspoken against modern elves than Solas himself. Solas wondered what had brought about the change, but he did not want to think long about what Abelas had said. Worst of all, the men and women gathered in the Tevinter base were the elite of his forces. Only the most trusted agents were stationed at the main base. Which meant that even Solas’s staunchest supporters were likely to be swayed like Abelas. Solas wondered what sort of loyalty he could expect from the rest of his agents throughout Thedas. Perhaps his entire uprising was only waiting for the right moment to turn and rend him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to operativelm for the opening quote.


	9. The Hall of Monsters

“ _The Randy Dowager staves off the chill of winter with the collected_ Ensnared by the Sex God, _being a steamy account of an innocent Dalish maid recruited to the ranks of the lascivious Fen’Harel Cult._ _A titillating tale of forbidden faith and ribald rituals._

_The Randy Dowager: Exhibitions for the noble of thought, but spry of step._

_The Lady herself says: Enthralling. Sure to evoke praise from all but the staunchest Chantry prudes. Four scarves fluttered out of five. —RD”_

—A suspect quarterly missive discovered by the Right Hand of the Divine near the Grand Cathedral, reprinted by the University of Orlais [complete text]

Sera went with Ellana and Dorian when they returned to his house. The ride back was far livelier than the ride there had been, now that they had Sera swearing at every lurch of the carriage. Ellana was grateful that someone was willing to voice her feelings on the subject. Once they got back, Dorian dispatched a message for Magister Tilani, then they all settled in to wait. 

In the meantime, Ellana and Dorian filled in the others on what they had discovered. 

“Feynriel?” Merrill asked, when Dorian explained who they were waiting for. 

“My friend Mae Tilani’s apprentice,” Dorian said. “He’s half-Dalish, from Kirkwall, actually. A very talented _somniari_. Varinius snatched him as soon as he got to the city, but Mae was able to get him out in a matter of weeks. Good thing, too. Dreamers are incredibly dangerous, as you know.”

“Then he’s safe,” Merrill said.

“Do you know him?”

“I helped Hawke rescue him from the Fade back in Kirkwall. Using the same ritual Ellana and I have been using to speak to Solas.”

“Wonders never cease,” Dorian said.

Within the hour, Feynriel and Magister Tilani arrived together and Dorian greeted them warmly. “Mae! I wasn’t expecting you to come along as well.”

“I couldn’t pass up what may be my only chance to meet the Inquisitor!” she told Dorian.

“Well, then,” Dorian said, turning to Ellana. “Ellana, this is my friend and cohort, Maevaris Tilani. Mae, this is former Inquisitor Ellana Lavellan.”

Ellana had a brief flashback to the Winter Palace as she smiled and said, “Pleased to meet you, Magister Tilani.”

“Likewise, Inquisitor. But call me Mae. Any friend of Dorian’s is a friend of mine.”

Surprised, Ellana said, “My Keeper goes by Mae, as well.”

“Does she also have a horrendously long name?”

“Deshanna Istimaethoriel Lavellan.”

Mae laughed. “I thought Maevaris was bad.” She glanced at her apprentice. “But you wanted to talk to Feynriel, not me. I’m glad to have finally met you, Ellana. I’ll leave you to Feynriel.”

Once introductions were made, Feynriel and Merrill had a warm reunion. He was full of questions about Kirkwall, and Merrill was deeply curious about his life in Tevinter. Once the two of them had exhausted their questions, Feynriel turned to Ellana.

“Inquisitor. Dorian said you need someone with knowledge of Magister Varinius.”

“Yes. What can you tell us about him?”

“What people seem to misunderstand about Varinius is that he doesn’t keep mages just so that he can exploit their magic,” Feynriel replied. “He sees himself primarily as a researcher, and the mages he keeps are the basis of his experiments. He developed a fascination with elvhen magic, likely due to the _Arlathvhen_ , so he’s taken a special interest in capturing elven mages.”

“What sort of experiments is he doing?” Ellana asked, unsure she wanted an answer.

“He likes to see how mages respond to extreme circumstances. The usual torture, forced Tranquility, and coerced blood magic. Parts of his house make it impossible for mages to draw mana from the Fade, so any casting has to be done with blood magic. It basically simulates Tranquility, which prevents the mages from escaping or using normal methods of casting.”

“But—why would he do such awful things?” Merrill asked, a tremor in her voice.

“He believes magisters have a sacred duty to explore the limits of magic. Varinius idolizes the Magisters Sidereal—those who breached the Fade—because they were the first to ever perform such an amazing feat of magic. He wants to produce similar results.”

Ellana sighed. “So, this is the typical ‘magister wants to crack open the Fade and enter the Black City’ situation?”

“Not at all,” Feynriel said. “Varinius has no real interest in replicating that experiment. It’s already been done. He wants his own discoveries to earn him a place in Tevinter’s history.”

Dorian coughed. “That’s the worst goal I’ve heard in ages.”

“It’s worse than you’d think,” Mae chimed in. “You only know a little of what happened with Varinius and your father.”

Dorian sighed. “I leave the Imperium for a couple of years to save the world and come home to find my horrible father has actually listened to my advice. Suddenly he’s gone rogue and pissed off half the Magisterium, which makes it much harder to pick a culprit when he winds up dead.”

“It does complicate matters,” Mae agreed.

“What can you tell us?” Ellana asked.

“It’s very likely that Varinius murdered Halward,” Mae replied. “He was attempting to get the Magisterium’s consent to legalize importing red lyrium. Dorian’s father was very outspoken against the prospect and was stirring up dissent amongst the other magisters. I helped, of course.”

“We’ve been through all this before,” Dorian said. “How does it help us now?”

Mae grinned wickedly. “Why, revenge, of course. We’ve finally got the perfect team to take down Varinius for good.”

Dorian brightened. “With him out of the way, we could finally make headway in the Magisterium.”

Feynriel spoke up again. “Varinius is a monster. If Mae hadn’t helped me escape him, I don’t want to think of what he would have made me do. She and I have helped two more mages escape his house since she rescued me, but it’s difficult to move people in and out with him there. I know all of the servants there, and I can assure you that they’d burn the man in his bed if they thought they wouldn’t be caught. I’ll do whatever I can to help you get that book away from him.”

“We can’t stop with just the book,” Ellana said. “If we’re going into his house, we need to get the other mages out.”

“Agreed,” Dorian said.

“Anything else would be unthinkable,” Feynriel said. “There’s a smugglers’ tunnel that leads into Varinius’ garden. That will be a good way to get people out, but it’s not really the best way _in_ , since it leads directly to the templar quarters.”

“So we need to get the templars out of the way, sneak the mages out, and make sure Varinius isn’t there to stop us.”

Dorian spoke up. “I can handle the trouble of getting Varinius out of the way. I’ll offer to show him my father’s books and drop a hint about your _Tome of the Slumbering Elders_. The man is rabid for volumes of elvhen magic, so he won’t be able to resist a Dalish Dreamer text.”

“Alright, so what about the templars?”

Sera laughed maniacally. “The old standby should work. Give ‘em the shits. Kitchen staff’ll be able to handle that. Some underdone meat and the right seasoning and they’ll be locked away tight as you’d like.”

“If you’ll have me, I’d like to go with you,” Feynriel said. “I know how Varinius has his collection set up, and I’m certain I know where he’s stowed that book.”

“Of course,” Ellana said.

“It should be simple enough to get that many in without being noticed, especially with the templars out of the way. Give me three days and the servants will be ready.”

“Right, then,” Dorian said. “I’ll get Varinius out of the way, the kitchen staff will immobilize the templars, and you all will rescue the mages and steal the book. Simple enough.”

“If we run into any trouble, Widdle sent bees,” Sera said proudly.

After two days and half a dozen notes, Dorian had secured a meeting with Varinius. Feynriel also sent word that the servants would be ready. Now they just had to hope everything would go right on Wednesday night.

* * *

Once the investigation into Castellum Occultus had ended, Solas handpicked a team to accompany him. They had initially planned to enter the house on Friday, but the agent they had planted inside returned earlier than expected. As a result, Solas had insisted on pushing the date forward to Wednesday. He had a nagging feeling that they needed to hurry. It likely had something to do with Ellana being in Tevinter. However unlikely it seemed, he always feared she would find a way to thwart his plans. She had managed that well enough so far.

Now that Solas stood looking at where he knew the house was, he had to admit there was part of the investigation that still bothered him. Despite the agents’ best efforts, no one was able to learn what was on the third and fourth floors of the house. There were no rumors about them and the agent on the inside had been unable to access them. In desperation, Solas had even tried visiting them in the Fade, only to find that they were inaccessible there, as well. He supposed the captive mages had been forced to set layer upon layer of concealment spells that blocked anyone from seeing those floors, whether in the Fade or the mundane world. It was a troubling thought.

There were two entrances to the house: the front door, which was obviously the more dangerously exposed of the two. Then there was a smuggler’s tunnel that led to the templar barracks. Clearly, either option would be difficult to handle, but Solas decided the tunnel would be better, as it would keep them out of view of the street. It would also get them past the house’s barrier defense, which was a major concern on its own. It would require a lengthy trek across the grounds, but it appeared to be the more secure route.

There were patrols of animated statuary and free-roaming varghests, but none of those would pose a significant threat. More troublesome would be the band of templars they were likely to encounter upon entering the stronghold. Solas had brought six agents with him, all former Sentinels of Mythal. While Abelas himself might be a consistent thorn in Solas’s side, his men were irreplaceable assets.

Solas nodded to his agents, then spoke the charm that would allow them to pass through Castellum Occultus’ barrier. Swifter than a striking bird of prey, they sent a spear to the top of the wall with a rope around it. Each of them scaled the wall in turn and used the rope to reach the ground on the other side. Solas himself was the last over, taking the spear with him.

As planned, they all landed safely concealed behind a row of bushes near the wall. The half-moon was bright enough to reveal four of the statues that were patrolling the grounds. Solas let loose a flash of magic and watched as the statues froze, returned to their usual state of stationary stone. He motioned to the Sentinels and they all rushed to the grate that marked the entrance of the smugglers’ tunnel. The grate was speedily pried up and they each dropped to the floor of the tunnel. Solas said a quick spell to summon a ball of veilfire to light the way ahead of them.

Progress through the tunnel was easy. Solas had suspected this would be the case, as most people hiring lyrium smugglers would prefer that the suppliers not be maimed or killed on their way to deliver a shipment. He saw the gate to the templar barracks ahead. Once he checked the door for enchanted traps, he motioned for one of the Sentinels to come forward and pick the lock.

The door swung open and Solas and his agents peered around. Light poured down into the tunnel from the barracks, but everything was oddly quiet. They crept up the stairs, weapons in hand, ready to strike. The room on the other side of the tunnel was a large storage area where the crates of supplies could be kept. Solas had been told to expect two guards in the room. Their absence was concerning. He reassured himself that the lack of guards in a storage room was hardly cause for concern. But it was so quiet.

The next room they needed to pass through was the templars’ dining hall and common room. According to the report, the room was full of tables and benches, with four doors on either side leading to the sleeping quarters. They could expect to find templars in most of the rooms. Opening a fifth door set into the wall at the side of the fireplace would lead them to a hallway that would allow them to navigate to the next floor.

Solas eased the door to the dining hall open, expecting to take a quick glance at the templars before tossing a grenade inside. Instead, he found the place just as brightly lit as the storage area, with no sign of anyone inside.

“Sir,” one of his followers murmured. “What’s going on?”

“I’m not sure,” Solas whispered. “Be on your guard.”

He set a barrier around them and they proceeded into the room. His agents split off from his side, each of them going to investigate the doors to the sleeping quarters. Each of them returned with the same news, “There’s no one here, sir.”

Worry wound itself tight in Solas’s gut, but he knew they had come too far to turn back. “Then we proceed as planned.”

Solas was thankful he had brought former Sentinels with him. Abelas’ men were well trained enough to know better than to question orders. Solas idly wondered how Abelas had managed to train his men so well in something Abelas failed at himself. 

With no sign of the templars to oppose them, Solas’s team made their way into the hall that would lead them to the next floor of the house.

* * *

There were two teams: Briala, Ellana, Feynriel, and two of the Jennies calling themselves Vex and Rue made up the first team, in charge of acquiring the grimoire. Sera, Merrill, Mae, and two more Jennies who went by Wrench and Brand were the second team, in charge of getting the mages out and fending off the templars if Sera’s solution didn’t work. The plan was to split off once they were inside, with Feynriel leading Briala’s team to the grimoire, and Mae leading Sera’s team to the mages. All of them waited behind the hedge across the street from Varinius’ house.

They watched as Dorian’s carriage pulled up. He got out and whispered to them, “Are you all here?”

“We’re here,” Ellana hissed back. “You should go before you give away our position.”

“Don’t worry,” Dorian said. “The carriage is blocking the view.”

“You’ll look barmy talkin’ to a hedge,” Sera said. “Now get that rotbrained nob outta there for us.”

“Best of luck,” Dorian murmured to Ellana.

“Oh, just _go_ ,” Sera groaned. “You talk too much to be a Jenny.”

Dorian winked at her and she put her tongue out at him.

They watched Dorian go up the stairs and disappear into the house. They settled down to wait. After a half-hour, Ellana had to agree that Sera had a point about Dorian talking too much. Finally, they watched as Dorian and Varinius left the house. The two of them walked right past the team, and Ellana heard Dorian saying, “My dear Varinius, I have just acquired the oddest volume of Dalish magic. Yes, it’s a ritual the elves practiced to allow them to move like _somniari_ through the Fade. Very peculiar, and not at all my field of expertise, but I know you’ve expressed a particular interest in elvhen magic.” Ellana was pleased to see that Varinius seemed fascinated with Dorian’s ruse. They climbed into the carriage and rode away.

“Alright, Jennies, go,” Sera said.

They all darted across the street and opened the door. Ellana was grateful for the concealment spell Varinius kept on his house, as otherwise, the sight of ten cloaked people stealing through the door after dark might have raised questions. The inside of Varinius’s house was the gaudiest thing Ellana had ever seen. Everything seemed to be black and gold, from the gold-veined black marble floors to the gilt crown moulding around the ceilings. There were hideous statues everywhere.

Sera pointed at one that looked particularly monstrous. “Looks like _Venerius_ fancies darkspawn,” she whispered with a snort.

“Stay focused,” Ellana hissed.

“Lives on the line, yeah? Only a bit of fun. We’re going already.” Sera gestured to the group and they stole their way through the mansion.

The first and second floors were no trouble for them, and Ellana was thankful that Sera’s plan for the templars seemed to have worked. The biggest issue they had in passing through the house was stopping to deactivate the many traps Varinius had nearly everywhere.

Ellana nearly took a wrong turn down a hallway, before she was called back by a sharp, “Stop!” from Feynriel.

She looked down to see that a dark shaft had opened ahead of her. She scrambled back from the edge. “What is that?” she asked Feynriel.

“It drops into a mirror maze. Varinius likes to watch people wander through it. He also keeps some of his experiments down there.”

“His experiments?”

Feynriel grimaced. “He likes mutations.”

Sera snickered. “I told you! So, does he—”

“No, he does not have sex with his creations,” Feynriel interrupted.

“Let’s keep moving,” Ellana said. 

They reached the third floor safely, and Feynriel stopped to warn them. “The Veil is very thick here. This is the anti-magic portion of the house. The only mages who can cast here are myself and Merrill. Hopefully we won’t need magic at all, but the whole experience will be uncomfortable for our mages. Is everyone ready?”

They made their way up the stairs, then the two groups separated, Sera and company on their way to the mages and Briala’s group seeking the grimoire.

“Be safe,” Merrill told Briala before they parted.

“And you as well, _vhenan,_ ” Briala said.

In spite of everything in the last few years, Ellana found herself muttering a prayer to Mythal to get them all out of this deathtrap safely. Some habits were hard to break.

* * *

Solas and his agents had passed through the first and second stories of the house without incident. The place was heavily trapped, but they were used to dealing with ancient sites full of traps, demons, and darkspawn. A magister’s mansion was hardly any different. The first floor was mostly sitting rooms and servants’ quarters, with the kitchens in the back. The second floor was a random assortment of rooms that included an office, a small art gallery, and a handful of spare rooms. The entire time they proceeded, Solas was wondering where the templars had gone. 

But now that they had come to the third floor, he had another concern. This was the section of the house Solas had been unable to reach in the Fade. He imagined it would feel very insulated, but there would be little trouble from the spells. Instead, the first step onto the stairs set him staggering back as if he’d walked into a stone wall.

“Sir?” one of the Sentinels asked. “Are you alright?”

“I will be fine,” he replied, hoping it was true.

Everything in him cried out against that place. It frightened him and he wasn’t sure why at first. Then he realized: the Fade was simply _gone_. The Veil had been drawn so tight around those floors of the house that nothing could slip through. There was no hope of casting in such a place. He was shaking. He had never been in a place closed off completely from the Fade. Solas thought back to his first day after waking from _uthenera_. It was like dying, waking to a world with a Veil between him and the Fade.

The first step of the stairs was painful. The Veil was so heavy that the Fade felt a world away. Solas could no longer draw mana from the Fade, which meant he would be entirely powerless in the face of whatever awaited them. He took care to regulate his breathing. He reminded himself of the times early on in the Inquisition where he had overspent his mana. He knew what it was like to attempt casting and see nothing happen in response. He could not let himself panic. Few had observed his insistence on sparring with Iron Bull at Skyhold, both of them armed with only staves. Solas had been careful to ensure he would not be defenseless if he were unable to cast. He tightened his grip on his staff and pressed forward.

From pieced-together rumors and his agent’s incomplete report, Solas had managed to glean that the third floor was likely where they would find the grimoire. This floor housed Varinius’ private collections, including his “collection” of captured mages. The fourth floor was Varinius’ workspace and personal quarters. Solas’s team stole through the rooms on this floor, finding in each a collection of grotesque magical items. Varinius seemed to be fascinated by mutations in living creatures.

At the end of a gaudy hall lined with gilt mirrors and candelabras, there was a set of heavy doors carved with hideous creatures. If any room in this house held forbidden secrets, it looked to be this one. Solas threw open the doors, believing himself ready for anything, and froze.

The room was full of what seemed to be horrible religious relics: bones and hair, blood and teeth, all proudly displayed as if in a museum. That sight alone was awful. Worse was the sight of half a dozen of the same elven artifacts that he had convinced Ellana to activate to strengthen the Veil. That explained why half of Varinius’ house was shut off completely from the Fade. But worst was seeing the group of cloaked people in black already inside the room. Another group was attempting to rob Varinius’ house.

It was impossible. Solas knew it was impossible. But his aching, exhausted mind screamed that Ellana had come to steal the grimoire. He shouted commands to his agents and they set upon the other group.

* * *

Almost two hours later, Feynriel stopped them. “The room we’re looking for is through these doors,” he told them, gesturing to a set of enormous cherrywood doors covered in hideously carved dragons. “It’s the reliquary. I haven’t been inside in years, but the last time I was there, it wasn’t a pretty sight. Be prepared.”

Ellana was unfamiliar with the term “reliquary.” It was something she had heard Chantry officials mention occasionally, but she hadn’t bothered to learn its meaning. She regretted that decision when Feynriel swung open the doors.

Enormous brass chandeliers hung from the ceiling, bathing everything in an eerie, muted light that cast long shadows everywhere. The room was packed full of objects, some in glass cases, others on stands behind velvet ropes, some displayed on the walls. It was the most grotesque collection Ellana had ever seen. There were taxidermied darkspawn sporting hideous mutations, elaborate cases with plaques that declared the contents to be things like “the left eye of Solinius” or “the fingernails of Bellinara,” and in the center of it all, an enormous dragon’s claw, labeled “the Claw of Dumat.”

“What is this place?” Ellana asked Feynriel as they hesitantly crossed the threshold.

“It’s Varinius’ personal collection of Tevinter religious relics. He has a fascination with famous magisters and collects objects supposedly connected to them.”

Ellana couldn’t stop herself from pointing to a case of teeth. “Their _body parts?_ ” she said, disgusted.

“As I said, these are religious relics, which supposedly retain magical powers. The teeth there grant prophetic dreams to whoever pours wine over them on Midsummer Day.”

“What about the darkspawn?”

“Exemplary specimens of mutated darkspawn.”

Ellana swallowed the lump of fear in her throat and pressed on. “You do know where the book will be, right?” she asked Feynriel.

“I believe so,” he said.

“That’s not reassuring.”

He led her to an elaborate cabinet at the back of the room. It was set with glass doors, engraved with arcane symbols and padlocked shut. Once they got close enough, Ellana saw that the padlock had teeth.

“It can only be opened with blood magic,” Feynriel explained. He murmured an incantation. The padlock’s teeth began to slide open, ready to draw his blood. Feynriel stretched his hand out, ready for the teeth to close.

Faster than the padlock could draw blood, an arrow embedded itself in the wall right beside Feynriel. There was a shout from behind them. Ellana swung around and saw a group of masked intruders. They all wore solid black. The only distinguishing mark on their clothing was the wolf’s-head pin that held each of their cloaks. Agents of Fen’Harel. Her luck had run out, it seemed.

Ellana and the others scattered, and the agents launched their attack. Ellana was grateful to at least have her staff, since she couldn’t cast at all. She dodged a hail of arrows, then darted back to Feynriel’s side. He had managed to unlock the cabinet while the fighting raged around him. The doors slid aside to reveal a deep alcove. 

“The book is at the back,” Feynriel said. “I’ll guard the passage. Go!”

Ellana sprinted inside. The place was dark and damp, lit only by a few of the ever-present magic lanterns, faintly burning. Their dim light revealed a stone grotto, carved with incantations in Arcanum, and shelves that held strange tools and jars of pickled objects that Ellana did not want to put a name to. At the back was an altar. Ellana expected typical Tevinter religious imagery: an image of a twisting dragon, surrounded by pleading slaves, perhaps. Instead, she staggered back at the sight of a familiar form: a white marble figure of an elvhen woman crowned with halla horns. The white figure of Ghilan’nain shone like a beacon in the midst of the dark stone, towering over the bloodstained altar. This was a blood magic shrine, dedicated to the Mother of Monsters. Behind the idol was a shelf which held a book bound in snowy white halla leather. A tracework of corrupted lyrium decorated the cover with red filigree that looked like blood against the pale leather. The title was written in ancient elvhen runes, so Ellana could only guess their meaning. She suspected Merrill would confirm this was the book they were after. Ellana snatched the book from the altar and ran back into the reliquary.

The others had hemmed in Solas’s agents and were forcing them back to the library door.

“Force them out!” Briala shouted.

Ellana was just about to rush to join her friends when an iron grip caught her. She twisted around and saw the lone agent who had managed to evade the Jennies. They tried to grab the _Arlathvhen_ from her rucksack and she grappled with them, sending both of them tumbling end over end. She struggled to her feet only to have them grip her ankle, toppling her again. This time, she waited on the floor. As soon as the agent towered over her, she leapt up, catching them under the chin with the top of her head. Ellana heard her attacker’s teeth clack together painfully. They stumbled back from her, and she took the opening. She reached into her cloak pocket, grabbed the jar of bees, and threw it to the ground. In the seconds before Ellana bolted away, she noticed two things almost at once: first, that her hood had slipped, revealing her face. Second, that she recognized her opponent’s eyes.

“Solas!” she gasped, just as he whirled and fled from the angry cloud of bees that came roaring up from the floor at him.

Briala and the others had managed to bar the other agents from the library, and they were at Ellana’s side in a moment.

“Did you get the book?” Briala asked.

“Yes,” Ellana said breathlessly.

“Good. I only wish we could burn this place behind us when we leave.”

The unmarked carriage that Dorian had arranged was waiting for them. They all clambered inside and Ellana reached for her rucksack. Only then did she realize how light it felt.

She looked inside. “ _No_ ,” she said.

“What’s wrong?” Briala asked.

“The _Arlathvhen_. It’s gone. Solas must have grabbed it out of my pack when we were fighting.”

“That was Solas?”

“The agent I was fighting? Yes.”

“How did you know? They were all hooded and masked.”

“There aren’t many elves with purple eyes.”

“What will we do?” Briala said.

“Go back to Dorian’s house and regroup, I suppose.”

Ellana tried not to berate herself about losing the book to Solas, but it was nearly impossible. She knew how important something like the grimoire of the Evanuris must be to Solas’s plan. It was likely she had just doomed the entire world.

When they got back to Dorian’s house, he was already regaling Sera with the story of his talk with Varinius. “So there we were, me having barely drunk half my glass of wine, and him completely witless with alcohol. He starts chuckling and says, ‘it’s a pity I had to kill your father. If he was anything like you, he probably wasn’t so bad.’ What he doesn’t know is that the crystal is capturing everything he says.”

He turned to see Ellana and the others standing in the entryway.

“You’re back!” he said. “I assume you were successful?”

Ellana’s face betrayed her.

“Something went wrong, then.”

While Ellana struggled for an answer, Briala kindly stepped in. “Solas and his agents attacked us. He stole the grimoire from Ellana before we could escape with it.”

Dorian sobered. “At least we got the mages out,” he said.

“The other team is safe?” Briala asked.

“They’re all fine,” Dorian said. “Mae took the mages to a safehouse, the other Jennies are sleeping, and Merrill is pacing a path in the sitting room carpet.”

Briala disappeared in the direction of the sitting room.

Ellana sank into a chair. “At least everyone is safe. That’s the important thing.” She looked at Dorian. “But I’d really like to hear the rest of your story.”

“Oh. I was telling them that I created a device similar to your sending crystal that can capture conversations. I used it on Varinius and caught his confession to my father’s murder.”

“Will that be enough to have him jailed?” Ellana said. Then it occurred to her, “So, where is Varinius?”

Dorian smirked. “He’s currently enjoying the lovely view inside my library’s closet. I lured him in there with the pretense of showing him your _Tome of the Slumbering Elders,_ then I sealed the door shut.”

Ellana surprised herself by bursting out laughing. She laughed until tears ran down her face, then waited until she could breathe again. “Can you use the evidence against him?”

Dorian thought for a moment. “I believe so, although there are those who might claim the conversation was faked.”

“Maybe we should leave him in the closet,” Ellana said. Then she remembered the strange alcove where she had found the grimoire. “Dorian, do you know anything about magisters worshiping elven gods?”

Dorian looked puzzled. “Why?”

“The place where I found the grimoire had an altar to Ghilan’nain inside.”

Dorian let out a loud laugh. “Oh, that’s brilliant! We’ll get the Divine’s men to investigate him for blasphemy. Murder is one thing. It would likely get Varinius jailed if they accepted his confession. But blasphemy is a death sentence.”


	10. Down Into the Dark

_“My attempts to research the Cult’s rise have been fraught with peril. While in Tevinter, on an assignment from Divine Victoria herself to investigate the Fen’Harel Cult, I came across one of the so-called Agents of Fen’Harel. I attempted to question the man on what he knew of the Cult’s origins and its spread across Thedas. Everyone else in the place looked at me as if I’d asked an Arishok why his horns were so small. I braced myself for a thrashing, but received only a strained reply of, ‘We do not speak of the Cult in the Dales.’ It was an odd encounter, to say the least, and I learned afterward not to accost the elves wearing the sign of Fen’Harel, as they seem to be regarded as bad news wherever they go.”_

_—_ Personal Letter from Philliam, a Bard! to an anonymous lady friend, published by the University of Orlais [excerpt] 

Abelas came to meet Solas the moment he returned to the base.

“I see you’ve secured the grimoire.”

“Not without cost,” Solas replied.

“Sir?” Abelas asked.

Solas removed his hood and mask and was rewarded by watching Abelas wince at the sight of his face.

“Bees again, sir?”

“Yes. But I can heal these stings myself. They’re not as bad as the last time.” Solas shuddered involuntarily at the memory. The healers had barely believed his explanation, and he still heard whispers that the Dread Wolf had blundered into a beehive once.

“No one needs to know about this, Abelas. The important thing is that the mission was successful.”

“Of course, sir.”

“Inform the others that I am not to be disturbed for the rest of the day. I will need time to read the grimoire.”

“Yes, sir.”

For the next several hours, Solas pored over the secrets of the Evanuris. Back in his first days as the Dread Wolf, he had fought and killed to learn what he could of the forbidden magic they had practiced. It had cost dozens of lives to learn how to free the People from the hold of the _vallaslin_. Three millennia later, those mysteries were finally laid bare.

Now that he had the _Arlathvhen_ and Mythal’s sword, everything was in place for entering the Black City. The corrupted focus had been held all this time in a half-formed state. Raising the Veil had caught the Evanuris in the middle of the ritual that would have transformed the titan’s heart into a Blighted focus. Now, all that was left was to finish their work.

A quiet rustle drew his attention from the book to the other side of the room.

There was a shape like a tall young man in a wide hat at the window.

“The wolf waits at the end of the world, afraid, he knows the path. But waiting hurts. The wolf suffers every day he waits. Heart breaking, _var lath vir suledin_ , ready to rend the sky, aching.”

“Hello, Cole,” Solas said quietly, setting the book down. “You have stayed away a long time.”

The boy stared reproachfully at him. “Couldn’t come closer, you didn’t want me near. I want to help, but you push me away. Others need help, so I go to them.”

“You are right. I did not want to let you in. I feared you would run to _her_ and I could not risk you sharing secrets.”

“Brightest of them all, she shines, even stripped of the magic, hoping, fighting, doomed to the dark if the wolf wins.”

Solas sighed. “You do not have to do that, Cole.”

“I came to help. You were my friend. She still is. I hear the song from before, the same singing you hear. You helped them, but caused your own pain. What you want to do will not help.”

Solas ground his teeth. “How do you know that? Do you claim to be a prophet now?”

Cole sat, rocking back and forth, knees drawn up under his chin. He frantically recited, “Anger, stirring in him, pride she named him, called from the air to serve her. Pride remains, after all others fall, pride breaks himself to try again to save them.”

“You have not answered my question.”

“You were desperate before, back then. You did not know what would happen. You saved the world, but they were lost. The world changed while you were asleep. Things got worse, but some got better. Knowing makes things worse. They’re real, you know they’re real, but you want to kill them. You want to go back, when things were different. But it hurts, because you know. Killing does not make things better.”

Solas paced furiously around the room, angry movements accenting his words. “There is always a cost. Centuries of evil cannot be undone without paying the price. Is it wrong to end the lives of those who spend each day suffering, pleading for mercy?”

“Do you know what they want?” Cole asked.

Solas stopped short. “What?”

“Have you asked them what they want?”

“I—” he sat down heavily. “All of these people are gathered under my banner because they desired restitution. They want to see the elves restored to what they were centuries ago, before the loss of Arlathan and the cruelty of the Tevinter Imperium. These people gathered here as soldiers. Any soldier knows they may be asked to lay down their life for their cause.”

“What about the others?”

“The others?”

“The ones— _not_ here. _Not_ elves. They’ll die, too. Won’t they?”

“That is the cost of saving my people.”

“The wolf knows the price is cruel, wants to give up, to run far away. The song of Arlathan so loud, drowning out, _Fen’Harel lanasta_ , haunting every step.”

“What would you have me do, Cole? Without this magic, there is no restoring what was lost. I have promised a better future for my people. What choice is there?”

“This place is loud. It’s hard to think here. The land is old and there are too many voices.”

Solas rubbed his knuckles against his aching forehead. “The spirits of Arlathan have suffered ever since its fall, trapped between the Fade and the waking world. And the others. . . our kindred live with the memory of the world that was, the world without the Veil. They miss the waking world, but they are lost if they pass through the Veil. They live in constant peril of being bound by heartless mages. I know what it is to be bound. It is a torment beyond imagining, and I chose to undergo it. Others do not get that choice. Unless the Veil is removed, this will continue. Would you have me abandon our kind to the whims of the powerful and cruel?”

“Maybe there are other answers,” Cole said. When Solas lifted his head to look at the boy, he was gone as if he had never been there at all.

Solas did his best to shake off the haunting memory of Cole’s words later as he spoke to Abelas.

“Then you’re going through with it?” Abelas asked.

“I am. I have learned the words of the ritual. Wait for me here. I am going into the Black City to retrieve the focus.”

Abelas shivered visibly. “Sir, are you sure this is safe?”

“This is the way the plan unfolds, Abelas. We have no time to consider safety. Ellana almost stole the _Arlathvhen_ ahead of us. If I delay, she may find a way into the Black City as well.”

“ _Dareth shiral_ , my lord.”

Solas nodded to Abelas. Then he turned to the eluvian set behind his desk. With a mighty surge of magic, he anchored it to the Fade. When he stepped through, the Black City lay before him.

* * *

Now that Solas had the grimoire, Ellana sat discussing her options with the others.

“You’re the only one of us who has seen any of the book,” Dorian was saying to Feynriel. “Is there anything helpful you can tell us?”

“You’ve read the _Arlathvhen?_ ” Ellana said.

“Yes,” Feynriel told her. “While I worked for Varinius, another of the mages helped me read some of the _Arlathvhen_. We stole glimpses of it whenever we could, believing it was the foundation of his plans. Our knowledge of the language was incomplete, but one of the spells speaks of an impossible power, hidden beneath Arlathan, down in the Deep Roads. I believe the place they spoke of is no longer part of Thedas. According to our research, it lies below the Black City in the Fade.” 

“The Black City?” Dorian said. “What good does that do us? No one can reach it. Unless—”

Merrill spoke up. “The ritual. The Dreamwalking spell. It’s made for traveling the Fade.”

Dorian nodded. “That is a way. But are you sure you want to do this?”

“What choice do we have?” Ellana interrupted. “If I follow Solas, there’s a chance I can stop him from getting whatever this power is.”

“If you don’t even know what it is, how will you stop him?” Dorian said.

It took a long moment for Ellana to answer. “I think it’s pretty obvious—” her voice faltered. “I’ll kill him first.” A tear spilled from each of her eyes.

Dorian looked at her, wide-eyed, then swept her into a tight hug. Briala and Merrill threw their arms around her as well.

Ellana did her best to set her hurt aside. She could cry when the deed was done. She let go of her friends and wiped her eyes.

Feynriel looked at her solemnly. “It will take tremendous energy to send you so deep in the Fade.”

“If Merrill casts the ritual and you and Dorian help support it, will that be enough?”

“If all of us dose ourselves with lyrium, it will have to be enough,” Feynriel said.

“Will you help me?” Ellana asked Merrill and Dorian.

“Of course,” they said.

They all set up in Dorian’s study. He brought out a lyrium potion for each of them, reminding them this would be a difficult undertaking. Briala stood at Merrill’s side, offering words of support.

“You will need to direct all your energy and mana toward finding Solas,” Feynriel told Ellana. “Even with all of the practice you have had so far, it will be more difficult this time. The Black City is the heart of the Fade. No one, except perhaps Solas, knows what you will face.”

“I’m ready,” Ellana said. Merrill began to chant the spell, not even needing to read the words any longer.

The cold of the Fade surrounded her like icy water. Ellana focused her energy, as Feynriel had directed. She felt like she was falling. Her instincts told her to panic, to flail for control, but she calmed herself and sought out the familiar pull of sorrow that she knew was Solas. While looking for Solas usually felt like seeking out a lantern’s light after sundown, this felt like fumbling down a long hallway in the dark, hoping to feel out the shape of a candlestick. At last, she caught the thread of emotion and followed it.

The Fade settled around Ellana. A pair of ancient doors lay open before her. From the darkness and the cave walls around her, she guessed she was in the Deep Roads. The tunnel led down into a wide arcade, lit by veilfire. Ellana recognized the same ancient elvhen architecture she had seen in the ruined library that fateful day of the Exalted Council. Rows of columns supported the ceiling. Between familiar golden mosaics, the walls were lined with eluvians.

A fey curiosity drew Ellana nearer to the mirrors almost irresistibly. Whereas most eluvians shone opaque with magic, each of these displayed horrors of the past like a great, dreaming eye. The visions they showed were monstrous: elves in insect-like masks, twisting the world with joyful abandon. One gleefully creating a menagerie of mutants from innocent creatures, another pouring out the blood of slaves in secret blood magic rituals, the next cutting down his enemies on the battlefield only to raise them again to fight at his side, another forging cruel weapons of war made for atrocities. Everywhere was blood, slaughter, elven lives wasted like coppers in the hands of a king. Most troubling of all were the faces of these masked lords and ladies. Through all of the carnage and horror they reigned, their bare lips curled in jubilant smiles.

Ellana fought not to retch at the sight. She recognized these elves in their masks. She had seen their shapes in the statuary around her clan’s camp, their forms etched into her memory as symbols of safety, protection. These were the Evanuris, mage-kings of Arlathan. She guessed now what the eluvians were: gates to the prisons that bound the false gods behind the Veil. Many were dark and vacant, what dreams they would show long forgotten.

A spirit hovered on the opposite side of the colonnade, near a smaller pair of doors. As Ellana approached, they greeted her in elvhen.

She replied in kind, then asked, “Are you the guardian of this place? I met spirits who looked like you once before.”

“I am,” the spirit replied. “Centuries I have stood silent, hidden away in this secret place. What has brought you here?”

“The Dread Wolf seeks the power of this place to end the world. I want to stop him.” 

“The secret is held in the lifeblood,” the spirit said. “You must drink to understand.” They held out a goblet. “You will need this. Go through the doors but be cautious. The Wolf is near.”

Ellana took a deep breath and tucked the goblet into her cloak. She was shaking like a child newly wakened from a nightmare. She did not want to see what lay behind the next set of doors. Several long minutes passed as she stood in the silence, unsure her legs would obey her if she took a step nearer that cursed place. Finally, she thrust aside her fear and bolted across the tiled floor. Her footsteps echoed off the arched hall like stones cast into a deep well.

The doors opened with barely a touch. The path beyond led down into darkness. Ellana turned and lit a torch with veilfire to guide her. By the eerie green light, she made her way down the edge of the chasm. She could not run headlong here. The torch barely illuminated the next three steps ahead of her on the long, spindling path.

Down she followed, skirting the edge of the abyss, sweat gathering on her palms and at her temples for fear of falling. She knew that mages who died in the Fade were left Tranquil. She wondered if that meant only those who were murdered, or if it included those who fell into bottomless chasms. It was unlikely anyone knew what happened to mages who died using the Dreamwalking spell. Worse than that was the fear of her torch burning out, of being lost forever in that great, yawning dark. Her worries whispered that if she were lost in that dark, she would never find her way back to the waking world. Her tether to reality would sever in the blackness and her mind would break in the Fade. Ellana kept one shaking hand flat against the wall, just for the feel of something solid by her side. Step by careful step, she soldiered on. At last, an eternity later, the path stopped descending.

The way leveled out and widened into a passage. Once, she felt something brush against her skin, as if there were trailing vines dangling from above. She raised her torch to look and bit down on a scream. The light revealed the hideous shapes of countless demons. She knew the fear she felt was enough to draw down dozens of that host, but the demons did not seem to notice her passing there. They stirred and scuttled over the walls like cadaver beetles on a corpse, but they seemed content to remain where they were.

A sound buzzed faintly in Ellana’s ears, an unnatural whine as of some mutated insect. It prickled her skin and burned inside her nose like the lightning-heavy wind before a thunderstorm. Her stomach knotted itself tight and her muscles were drawn taut as a hunter’s bowstring. With every step, the sound grew louder, and she felt it like an ache in her teeth.

Ellana was dragging her feet along now, leaning heavily against her staff. Her body did not want to take one more step in that awful place. She knew, deep inside, that it would only take the slightest push and her sanity would snap and she would flee like a terror-mad hart from what lay down there in the dark.

The passage became a cavern, one that had no place in the natural world. Everywhere the walls were laced with thick, glowing veins of red lyrium. The smell of it was like an electrical storm and its song screeched unbearably in Ellana’s ears. Shapes flickered at the edge of her vision; shadows of twisted things long forgotten in the dark. Ellana did not know if they were real. A smothering, fevered heat wafted off the lyrium veins.

So this was the horror beneath the Black City: the body of a corrupted titan. The source of the red lyrium. _The lifeblood,_ the spirit had said. They must have meant the lyrium. Some of the glowing red substance dripped from a vein. Fighting her urge to vomit, Ellana held out the goblet and caught a few drops.

She knew it was madness. Red lyrium destroyed people’s minds. Ingesting the refined version was what created the red templars. She only hoped the spirit wasn’t attempting to destroy her. Steeling herself, she drank.

The lyrium burned her throat, then her eyes clouded over, and she was plunged into a vision.

She watched the same masked elves she had seen in the mirrors at the head of a procession. A prisoner was led behind them in chains: a woman wearing a dragon horn crown. Mythal, in her true form, before she became the shadow of herself that Ellana had met.

They led her onto a stone platform that seemed to be near where Ellana now stood in the body of the corrupted titan. The place was illuminated by the eerie blue-white light of lyrium veins. A marble slab stained with blood stood at the center of the platform. The chains around Mythal’s feet and hands were secured to the floor, holding her tight against the altar. Each of the Evanuris took a knife and cut the palm of their left hand. They let the blood drip onto the rune-inscribed floor below them as they recited a spell. All the while, Mythal thrashed against her bonds and seemed to curse the others, but Ellana could hear none of it.

The runes on the floor began to glow with a sickening red light. Ellana watched as the runes grew and spread across every inch of the platform, then spilled over into the rest of the cavern, climbing the walls. They runes cut themselves deep into the flesh of the titan until the blue veins of lyrium ran red.

In the bloody light of the corrupted lyrium, Mythal’s rich clothing was stripped away until she lay bare against the marble. While the rest of the pantheon continued chanting the spell, the eldest among them came forward. Elgar’nan drew a long dagger adorned with runes. As he neared her, Mythal lay still, waiting for the blow. She stared her husband in the eyes, silent, as he cut her throat. The moment Mythal’s blood dripped from the wound, an enormous blast of magic blew the platform apart. Part of the structure fell into the abyss below, and the rest was shattered in pieces. The spells that held the world together were being severed. Ellana watched as Mythal’s spirit rose on mighty dragon wings and flew from the cavern.

As the false gods lay screaming in the rubble, Solas strode in, the orb of destruction in his hand. With only a gesture, their spirits were drawn from their bodies. Like a ghostly procession, Solas led them into the chamber with the seven mirrors, far beneath the Golden City, and bound them there. Then he passed through one of the eluvians.

After traveling through the Crossroads, Solas exited another mirror. Ellana recognized his surroundings. She would know the place in any century. Skyhold. The fortress was in shambles, and Solas seemed shocked at the destruction. He clawed through the ruin, his panic clear. He uncovered several bodies in his frantic search. Desperate, weeping, he fled the fortress, taking the form of a giant wolf, and sped into the wilderness. He ran until his legs gave out.

Solas collapsed somewhere in the woods, far from any hint of civilization. His own form returned as his mana gave out and he fell fainting into the undergrowth. Ellana watched as ages sped past him and the stars wheeled their way across the sky. Until, at last, the woods around him now grown ancient, Solas opened his eyes.

A scream cut through the vision. Invisible hands seized Ellana’s body and shook her. “Ellana! Ellana!” someone was shouting.

She fumbled for control, forcing herself out of the Fade as if she were clawing her way out of her own grave.

Briala’s voice was the first thing Ellana registered in the waking world. “We have to go. Now!”

“It’s too late!” Feynriel shouted. “The Wolf is here!”

The door burst open and Solas strode in alone. With barely a glance from Solas, the others were transfixed in stone. Fear knotted its noose about Ellana’s throat. She had not stopped Solas in the Black City. If the vision she saw was true, she could guess his purpose there: he had created a corrupted focus from the heart of the titan bound below the Black City. He had claimed power more terrible than that of all the Evanuris. Who knew what he was capable of, and her staff was out of her reach—not that she could do anything other than swing it now. Venturing so deep into the Fade had completely sapped her magic. She silently cursed herself for her carelessness. There was no way she could cast now, and she didn’t even have a weapon.

* * *

Solas closed the distance between himself and Ellana. “You’re out of mana,” he observed. “Defenseless.”

“That’s what you think,” she retorted, glaring up at him. 

Surely, she didn’t think she could stop him now. “Hasn’t this gone on long enough?” he said.

“I don’t know what you mean,” she countered. “I’ll keep fighting as long as I need to.”

“ _Vhenan_ , I cannot let you continue this way. Surrender and I will lock you away until my plans are finished.”

“No.”

“Then I have no choice. You will come with me now.” He took her firmly by the arm, hoping she would comply and simply follow him.

The next thing he knew, her ironbark fist came crashing into his face. Wincing in pain, he stumbled back, pinning both her arms at her sides.

“Solas!” Ellana snapped. “Let me go, you bastard!” Her booted foot came down hard on his bare one. Now he regretted not wearing proper boots.

“Stop struggling,” Solas pleaded.

That seemed to have something of the desired effect. Ellana relaxed and looked up at him through her eyelashes. “If you wanted to kiss me this badly, you should’ve just asked.”

He rolled his eyes, which sent her into a fit of laughter.

“Enough of this foolishness,” Solas said, laying his hand over her face.

“It was worth a try,” Ellana mumbled through his palm, just before she slumped, caught in a deep sleep.

Solas caught Ellana as she fell, lifting her into his arms. It had been so long since he had held her, and this was not at all how he hoped that would happen. She looked peaceful for the first time in ages, sleeping soundly against his chest. He tried to stifle the jealousy that reared in him. It had been forever since he slept well.

He forced himself not to look at her, not to think of what he was about to do. As soon as he had put some distance between himself and Dorian’s house, he murmured the spell that would release Ellana’s friends from petrification. He had no wish to keep them imprisoned as statues forever. Solas hoped they would not prove troublesome for him. Ellana was the only one he needed to capture. Solas carried her through the nearest eluvian and sat her in the chair at his desk. He was thankful to hear her snoring gently. Still sleeping, then. 

Abelas came in and started at the sight of her.

Solas laughed a little. “I see you weren’t expecting me to actually capture her.”

“I had my doubts.” Abelas peered at Solas’s face. “Is that a bruise, sir?”

Solas touched his tender eye. “She punched me.”

“It must run in the family.”

Solas glowered at him. “Indeed.” He turned back to Ellana. “We can’t keep her here. She needs to be put somewhere secure and kept under guard.”

“Isn’t she still dangerous?”

“We can keep her dosed with the qunari concoction, _qamek_. It will keep her from casting.”

Abelas looked horrified. “But sir—”

“We can’t risk her escaping. Not now. Will you look after her, Abelas? Since you’ve been so concerned with her wellbeing.”

Abelas visibly struggled with himself, before he said, “Of course, sir. I’ll make sure she’s monitored and sedated. If you’ll bring her to the east chamber, we can keep her contained there.”

Solas nodded, then lifted Ellana again. “ _Ir abelas,_ _vhenan_ ,” he whispered into her hair. If she had only listened, none of this cruelty would have been necessary. If she had only given up and stayed away. But giving up wasn’t in her nature. He knew Ellana would run herself into her grave before she gave up.

The east chamber was a small, tidy room that had gone unused, since the agents were stationed at the other end of the fortress. Solas had instructed his agents to set up a bedroom inside, hoping he would succeed at capturing Ellana. Now, he lay her down on the bed and tried not to feel like a complete monster.

Abelas stood awkwardly in the doorway. “Sir, do I stay here and wait for her to wake? You said to dose her with _qamek_. If I misjudge the amount, it could be disastrous for her.”

“Fetch the potion. I’ll administer it.”

Solas had never imagined the misery that was shackling Ellana to the wall and watching her wake, frightened but furious, only to have him force the qunari sedative down her throat and put her back to sleep. Solas was only grateful that Abelas did not mention the tears he shed when he released Ellana from the chains. 

When it was over, he left Ellana lying in her new prison. She looked peaceful, but Solas knew that was only the sleep spell. When she woke, Ellana would be unable to cast magic at all. _Qamek_ drained a mage of their mana. In a strong enough dose, it could break their mind. Solas had given Ellana just enough of it to render her powerless. The effect was not permanent, so the potion would have to be readministered the next day. Solas reassured himself that it would all be over soon. He never thought he would look forward to the end of the world.

When he and Abelas had returned to the hall, Abelas immediately had questions. “Sir, everything is in place. Have you thought any more about what I said? About what will happen when Arlathan is restored?”

Solas turned to him and did not attempt to hide his exhaustion. “I will leave that to you.”

“What do you mean, my lord?”

“I am blood-bound to the focus that will destroy the Evanuris once we reach Arlathan. It is a much more powerful tie than the connection I bore to my first focus.”

Abelas thought for a long moment. “But if the blood binding is what will destroy the others—”

“You begin to understand now,” Solas said.

“You don’t expect to make it out alive.”

“I do not know what will happen to me when the focus is destroyed. The bodies of the other Evanuris are long lost in the ruins of Arlathan. Only their spirits remain, sealed away beneath the Black City. Those who became the archdemons are lost forever. The few who remain will be destroyed completely by the destruction of the focus. As I am embodied, there may be hope that I survive. But I put no faith in that chance.”

Abelas looked stricken. “What else remains to be done before your plans are completed?”

“I will delay for three days. I want to be certain that Lavellan is properly sedated by the _qamek_. And now that she is captured, I want to rest.”

“You intend to sleep, then?”

“Yes, for the next three days. It will be the first time in ages when I could properly rest. I will finish my other preparations and then retire to my chambers.”

* * *

Ellana started awake. She had no idea where she was. The last time she was conscious, she had been shackled to a wall. Solas had stood over her and forced something down her throat before putting her back to sleep. Ellana wondered what the strange liquid had been. Not a traditional sedative, as Solas could simply put her to sleep. Something worse, then. An awful thought came to her. She tried casting. Nothing. Her magic was gone, as if it had never been there. She could feel the Fade, but couldn’t draw from it. Her strength had given out. She suddenly felt very small and afraid.

The others. Dorian, Sera, Merrill, Briala, Feynriel. Solas had turned them all to stone. Which meant they were essentially dead. Ellana felt despair rising in her. She had failed far worse than she had ever imagined and now her friends had paid the price. She cursed Solas’s cruelty. If he was going to turn the others to stone and leave them for dead, why not her as well? She thought of the others and the tight knot of sorrow around her heart tore apart. Angry, despairing tears poured down her face and she wailed like a small child. She was all alone, her friends were dead, and her magic was gone.

This wasn’t like the magister’s house, where everyone but Merrill and Feynriel had been unable to cast. There, she had her staff in her hand and felt ready to face whatever opposed her with the help of her friends. There, she had known the effect of the awful house was temporary—that she would be able to cast again once they left the third floor. This was entirely different. She had no idea why her mana was gone, though she suspected it had something to do with the horrible potion Solas had dosed her with.

She had fought so long and hard. Solas had had endless opportunities to stop her, to kill her or make her Tranquil. Never once had he taken that chance. But now she was caught helpless in his fortress while he prepared to end the world. Ellana would have welcomed death before this. There might be some hope of escape, but she had no idea how permanent the effects of the potion might be. There was a cure for Tranquility. She had no idea if there was a cure for this. All she knew was that she would kill Solas with her bare hands if he gave her the opportunity. It was the least she could do to avenge her friends.

Eventually, Ellana managed to cry herself out. Shaking and exhausted, she realized just how bad she felt. Pain, her closest companion for the past two years, burned in her left arm, all the way to her neck. Her head ached, likely an aftereffect of her crying and the drug she had been given. Ellana checked her cloak pocket. It was empty. They had taken her pain medicine away from her, likely to keep her from using the bottle as a weapon.

There was a creak as the door to her room crept open. Abelas stood in the doorway.

“Hello, Abelas,” Ellana said. “Are you the one they assigned to guard me?”

“I’m the only one Fen’Harel trusts enough.”

“Of course,” Ellana said. “But he must consider you expendable if he sent you to guard a dangerous prisoner like me. Does that bother you?”

“Not really. I consider myself lucky that he hasn’t executed me yet.”

Ellana stared at him.

“You look like you don’t believe me. But I haven’t exactly made myself popular with Solas.”

“Why? I thought you were his strongest supporter.”

“I was at first.”

“What changed?”

Abelas sank into one of the chairs across the room. “I thought I was on the right side. Allying with the great Fen’Harel, Champion of the People, my lady’s Seneschal. I thought I wanted Arlathan back. But the closer we came, the more I realized how awful things were back in Arlathan. And Fen’Harel—Solas—can’t seem to see it. He is so focused on bringing back the Golden City and freeing the slaves, on preventing everything the elves have suffered since, that he has no idea what he will do once the slaves are freed. His plans end there. That is no way to restore the world. He wants only to undo the destruction he caused. He thinks nothing of how to help our people thrive.”

“Then you disagree with his plan?”

“It’s foolishness. Wishful thinking that he will pay for in blood. And I owe you an apology, Lady Inquisitor.”

“Ellana is fine. But what do you mean?”

“The last time we met, I said you were not one of my people. _Ir abelas, dal’en_.”

“What changed your mind?”

“I have heard city elves learning the language of Arlathan, thrilled to finally speak the language of their people. There are Dalish here who have a reverence for Mythal to match my own. I have seen Dalish craftsmasters creating bows using the same techniques used by my people over a thousand years ago. All of these I called _shemlen_ who have fought and scraped and suffered to live in this harsh world, all of them possess the same bright spirit of the elves of Arlathan. They are not shadows of what was; they merely hide their light for fear of it being snatched away. There is no difference between your people and my people except time. We are all elves.”

Ellana took a long look at him. “What will you do to help our people, Abelas? Will you help me end this, if we can?”

“I have already tried. Who do you think got that note into the hands of Red Jenny?”

Ellana choked. “You were Sera’s informant?”

“Indeed. I’ve been keeping word of Briala’s agents out of his hands as well. And I tried my best to show him what I knew about our people, although he doesn’t know yet that most of his followers have given up on the cause. It’s not much, but I have tried.”

Ellana sighed. “Why didn’t you just kill him?”

“For the same reason I suspect you haven’t: because I have hope he will come to his senses and give up this madness.”

She gave a bitter laugh. “Are you in love with him, too?”

Abelas laughed as well. “I love him as I might love a stubborn, implacable elder brother.”

After a long pause, Ellana said, “Do you know what potion he gave me?”

“It’s a qunari drug called _qamek_. It suppresses mana to keep you from casting. Solas intends to use it to keep you powerless, instead of jailing you properly.”

Ellana snorted. “Does he really think being unable to cast is enough to keep me here?”

“He still isn’t thinking properly. He suffers badly from being unable to access the Fade like he is used to doing. Your sleep deprivation campaign was very effective.”

“Not effective enough,” she said. “Will the _qamek_ wear off? Will I be able to cast again?”

“Yes. Probably within a few hours. But you will remain weakened for some time. It may be weeks before you regain all of your mana. Solas intended to have you dosed again, but I gave different instructions.”

“Thank you, Abelas. Is there anything I can do to stop Solas now?”

“In a few hours, he plans to lock himself in his chambers and sleep for three solid days. After that, he will carry out the rest of his plan. Once he has gone, I’ll release you to go after him.”

“Can’t we stop him while he’s sleeping? Steal the orb or something?”

“He’ll set a barrier around himself to prevent it.”

“There must be something!”

“It is best to wait. I have faith in you, Inquisitor. If there is a way, you will find it. My efforts have certainly failed.”

Ellana stared miserably at the floor. “Mine cost the lives of my friends. I will wait three days if it means avenging them.”

Abelas nodded. “I must go now. You are free to move around your room and the larger chamber outside. It’s best if you stay here. I will have to lock the door of the other chamber behind me so that I can keep up the pretense of your imprisonment, at least until Solas is sleeping.”

“ _Ma serannas,_ Abelas,” Ellana said.

He left her alone again.


	11. At the World's End

“ _I’m not sure why you’re writing to me. Sure, there are plenty of rumors that the Inquisition is still going. Considering the new Divine was their spymaster, you’re bound to get a few conspiracy theories. And there are people saying that I’m still helping the Inquisition. I was part of the thing, after all. The truth is, I know basically nothing about this horny Cult out in the Dales, but I’ll admit you’ve got the makings of an interesting story there. It sounds like inspiration for my next book—an elven uprising secretly clashing with agents of the Inquisition. Intrigue, romance, lots of sneaking around and stealing stuff. Exactly the type of thing that could be a bestseller. Unfortunately, there have been too many people already cashing in on the whole Cult thing, and Orlais can only read so many elfy books before they get sick of them. If you ask me, a good pirate story would be a safe bet instead._ ”

—Personal letter from Varric Tethras, Viscount of Kirkwall, to Brother Ferdinand Genitivi, published by the University of Orlais [excerpt]

Once his other duties were complete, Solas made his way to the east chamber. He had to check on Ellana. He hoped that she might still be sleeping, between the exhaustion of the previous day and the _qamek_. If she still slept, he could place her pain potion in the room before she woke. In case she was awake, he knocked firmly on the door.

“Enter,” she called.

Solas drew himself up straight and walked inside.

Ellana sat on one of the benches, reading. “Hello, Solas,” she said.

Solas was so used to the cheerful way she spoke with him in the Fade that her flat tone now concerned him. “Hello, Ellana. Are you well?”

“I’m in pain. You took my potion away.”

Solas flinched. “I brought your potion. I had the healers examine it so that they could replicate it. The bottle was almost empty. They—they said it was nearly as strong as the stuff they give dying patients.” 

“I _was_ almost dead the day you took the Anchor, remember? The magic might be gone, but the pain is still there.”

“Why did you not tell me?” Solas breathed. “I had hoped removing the Anchor would stop most of the pain. I did not know you were suffering so badly.”

“Is there anything you could have done?”

“No. But that doesn’t mean I don’t care about your pain. I was the cause of it, after all.” He handed her the healing potion. She took the bottle without comment and dosed herself.

He hesitated, then said, “I can use a healing spell on your arm if you’d like. It will alleviate the pain until your potion has time to work.”

“Why not,” Ellana said. She stood and pulled her tunic over her head, placing it on the bench behind her. Then she unfastened the harness that held her prosthesis in place and laid her ironbark arm on the tunic.

Careful to regulate his breathing, Solas crossed the room. “Where does it hurt?” he asked Ellana. “Guide my hands.”

Ellana took hold of his hands each in turn and guided them to her shoulder and the stump of her left arm. “There,” she said. “And there.”

Solas recited the healing spells under his breath, gently guiding his hands across Ellana’s bared skin. “How does it feel now?” He fought to keep his hands steady, to resist the temptation to knead her muscles beneath his fingers, to follow the old paths his hands had traced over her skin. Shame twisted inside him.

“Better,” Ellana murmured. “But you don’t have to touch me for the spells to work.”

He pulled his hands back as if from a fire. “I’m sorry. I have forgotten myself.”

“Your hands are shaking,” Ellana whispered.

Solas turned away from her. “I can never forget what we were,” he said.

“I miss those days, too,” she said quietly. “I never wanted to fight you.”

He heard her approaching and he turned to face her, only to be struck squarely in the chest as Ellana swung her prosthetic arm like a bludgeon. Solas was sent sprawling, several feet from Ellana. With a quick spell, he raised a barrier between them.

Regaining his feet, he said, “I never should have let my guard down. Even without your magic, you’re still determined to kill me.”

Ellana was seething. “You killed my friends, imprisoned me, and dosed me with a mana suppressant. Of course I want to kill you!”

“I didn’t kill anyone,” Solas said quietly.

“ _What?_ ” Ellana almost shrieked.

“Your friends are alive and well, though doubtless they are panicking over your loss. The petrification is reversible. I simply choose not to reverse it most of the time.”

Ellana stood panting from her fizzling shock and anger. She bit her lip, then turned and refastened her arm. “That doesn’t change the rest of it. Why free them if you’re just going to kill them anyway?”

He could not look her in the eye. “I am sorry, Ellana.”

She sighed. “Sorry for what, exactly? Sorry for my pain? Sorry for locking me up? Sorry for dosing me with whatever that qunari concoction is so I can’t even use my magic? Or are you sorry for the things that really matter? For destroying the world? For promising our people everything they could ever dream of just so they can die for Arlathan?”

Tears slid down his face.

“Will you take down the barrier if I promise I won’t try to murder you again?” she asked.

“Can I trust you?”

She smirked. “Not for a minute. But I’m too tired and sore to take another swing at you. Consider this a momentary truce.”

He removed the barrier and she walked to him.

“That’s quite a shiner I gave you yesterday,” she said, tracing the purple bruise around his eye. “And I’m sure your chest will be purple, too.”

“I deserved it,” he said.

“You did, yes,” she said flatly, running her thumb along his jawline. “Will you answer me, _vhenan?_ Why are you sorry?”

He caught her hand and kissed it. “Does it matter?”

“It matters more than anything in the world right now.”

Instead of answering, he leaned down and kissed her solemnly. Her mouth tasted of bitter elfroot, reminding him again of the harm he had done.

When he stepped away, she caught him by the arm, as she had done once, years before, at Skyhold. “Why can’t you let Arlathan go?” she said. “Why can you not accept this world?”

“Because our people are suffering, _vhenan_.”

She laughed. It was a terrible sound, bitter as the elfroot on her breath. “Our people? You never let it be _our_ people. You made it very clear to me that I was not one of your people and I never could be.”

Trembling from the impact of her words, Solas said, “You don’t understand.”

“Because you won’t explain yourself!” she said. “Why is it that I, and all the other elves alive today, are only your people when they’re willing to die for you?” 

“They knew they were pledging their lives when they joined my cause. They knew death was probable when they accepted the call.”

“You promised them a soldier’s death, in battle against their oppressors, not meaningless slaughter.”

“They are willing to die for Arlathan. Does it matter how that death comes to them?”

“Yes, it does. They think they’re fighting for freedom, to build a future for themselves and their children. You offer them only destruction.”

“For the sake of sparing them all the horrors they have endured.”

“That’s no solution and you know it. So do many of the others. Have you noticed your followers disappearing? Rumors of the truth are circulating and many of your people have fled.”

“I do not need their confidence. My cause is right.”

“How can you pretend to be the champion of those who don’t even believe you’re doing the right thing?”

“Because I know how they have suffered. I have seen the Emerald Graves, named for the countless elves slaughtered there. I have seen _Dirthavaren_ , where the elves took their last stand against the Chantry. I know how Celene purged Halamshiral, only months before we walked there. All of those needless deaths could be undone if my plans succeed.”

“You call those deaths needless, while planning to kill everyone in this world. This is madness. What happens if you succeed? You’ll return to the time of the Evanuris when they are at their full strength. What if your rebellion fails again?”

“It will not fail. The power I have claimed is enough to destroy the Evanuris for good.”

“The Blighted focus.”

“Yes.”

“You really don’t care what means you use anymore.”

“I told you before. I would not have you see what I become.”

Ellana looked at him, pain stark on her face. “As if I’d just turn away and not chase you all the way down this path. You know me better than that. We’re both too damned stubborn. That’s how we got here. But I didn’t think it would end like this.”

Solas had no answer. “ _Ir abelas, ma vhenan,_ ” was all he said before he turned and left her there alone.

He made his way to his chambers, informing Abelas that he was about to retire. Then, heart aching like an open wound, he locked himself away.

* * *

Three days, Abelas had said. It felt like so much longer to Ellana. At least her sorrow at the loss of her friends was gone. The shock of believing them dead still lingered, but she was thankful that at least they had made it out alive for now. Still, time was running out.

She passed the time restlessly, speaking at length to Abelas when he checked in on her, and happily meeting some of the other Sentinels. But she could focus on nothing but the knowledge that she was waiting for the world’s end. If she didn’t kill Solas when he woke, everyone would die.

Ellana had even attempted to dismantle the barrier Solas had set around his rooms, hoping she might have a chance to kill him while he slept. Unfortunately, his wards held, as they had not done back when she was haunting him in the Fade. She missed her friends. She even missed the early days back in Kirkwall, where she had at least felt safe, even as she struggled against feeling helpless to stop Solas.

Her magic came back slowly. By the end of the first day, she could draw mana from the Fade. She couldn’t shape it in any way, but she could at least access it again. By the next morning, she could form a small flame in her hand. It was barely enough to light a candle with, but it was magic. By mid-afternoon, she could raise a barrier and hold it for a few minutes, and she could finally form lightning again. Her progress was disheartening. The third day came and her connection to the Fade felt normal, but she could only cast a few spells before she exhausted her mana. It wasn’t enough. She knew it wasn’t. The only hope that remained for the world was Solas’s love for her. If he let his guard down for only a moment, she might have the chance to strike.

There was a knock at the door and Abelas stepped inside. “It’s time,” he said. “Solas has gone through the eluvian in his office.” He handed her an ironbark staff. “Take this. The craftsmaster insisted some of his handiwork be sent on this mission.”

Ellana smiled sadly. “Thank you, Abelas. What will you do now?”

“I will get as many people out of this place as I can. Even if you stop Solas, there could be another Breach in the Fade. Once the evacuation is done, the Sentinels and I may follow you to Solas.”

“ _Ma serannas_. For everything.” 

“Go now, and may Mythal protect you.”

It did not take her long to discover Solas’s office now that the barrier was down. It was, after all, the only one flanked by enormous statues of howling wolves, with doors covered in more of Solas’s Dread Wolf paintings. Ellana rolled her eyes. For someone who had successfully pretended to be a hedge mage for over a year, Solas had an inexplicable taste for gaudy décor. The doors, thankfully, were unlocked. Another reminder of just how confident Solas was in his base’s security. Ellana smiled weakly when she saw the Chantry treatises that sat piled on the desk.

Behind the desk chair, the eluvian shone with a dark, sickly light. Ellana felt ill just looking at it, but she knew this might be the last chance she had to speak to Solas. If nothing else, she wanted her face to be the last thing Solas saw before the world burned away. She stepped through the mirror.

The crossroads was as beautiful as ever, but the light was dim now, and the trees that had been heavy with blossoms were now red leafed, as if even this place knew the world was ending. Ellana ran through the labyrinth, searching for the mirror that would lead her to Solas. At last, she found the eluvian and passed through.

It was cold on the other side, like the ever-present chill of the Fade, and the entire place was bathed in red light. It was a ruin inside a forest, but a forest out of the depths of unspoken nightmares. The whole place felt _wrong,_ the way a dream feels as it teeters on the edge of darker things. The trees—if they could be called that anymore—were twisted up at the sky like clawing hands. It was clear that they were long dead, but they still stood like the obelisks of a forgotten necropolis. Their trunks and branches were all a hideous rust-red color. The fragmented buildings that twined through their boughs were black, crumbling, ashy. All of it—trees, masonry, even the ground below—was grown over with red lyrium. But the worst part was the sound. A cacophony of keening, screaming voices begging for mercy, praying for rescue from the destruction, rising and falling, a deafening chorus of misery that never fell silent. Ellana instinctively pressed her hands to her ears in hopes of muffling the sound, but there was no escaping the roar of anguish. _Fen’Harel, lanasta,_ pleaded the cries of a score of lost voices. _Fen’harel, have mercy_.

In the midst of it all stood Solas. He stood with his head bowed, and Ellana could see the tears that ran down his cheeks as he glanced up and saw her. “I knew you would follow me,” he murmured, and it was then, as she heard his words easily over the clamor, that Ellana realized the sound was in her mind.

“What is this place?” she asked.

“What remains of Arlathan in this world,” Solas replied, confirming what she had already guessed. “Can you hear it? She weeps.”

“I can barely stand it.”

“I have heard it since I woke from _uthenera_. The sound is fainter from a distance, of course, but it never ceases.”

Ellana flinched. “How did you bear it?”

“By swearing to undo what I had done. I am the cause of this. I am the one who must set it right.” Solas reached into his cloak and drew out an orb crackling with red energy.

“No!” Ellana cried, launching herself at Solas.

The glow of the red lyrium around them grew brighter, until there was a great flash of light. An enormous Fade rift opened and swallowed them both. They were flung into the broken-mirror image of the forest. The trees were scattered across the jagged landscape of the Fade and the green sky was visible above. There were ruins here, too, more intact than those in the mundane world, swarming with spirits that wept aloud. Ellana barely had time to orient herself, as she saw that Solas was fleeing along one of the crumbling bridges to the city gate. She drew in a sharp breath and chased after him, thankful for the reassuring weight of the staff in her hand.

She saw Solas glance behind as she hoisted herself into the tree branches and leapt onto the bridge to pursue him. “My love, please, turn back!” he called.

“No!” she shouted. “Not now!”

Quick as the snap of a wolf’s jaws, Solas turned. Ellana stopped short as the magic from the orb he carried spilled forth and lit both his hands. Then he took hold of the fabric of the Fade and twisted it. What had been a ruined fortress spread itself into a maze of twining towers, stairs to nowhere, impossibly long corridors, and bottomless pits. The bridge where Ellana stood corkscrewed around itself and she was flung off its edge.

* * *

Solas saw Ellana slip from the edge of the bridge. Forgetting his determination to escape, he sprinted to the bridge’s edge and spread a grassy knoll to catch her. She lay, cradled on the ledge, peaceful as if she slept. Solas forced himself to leave her behind. There was no way for her to climb back to the bridge, so she would lie there until the world’s end. He walked onward, toward the heart of Arlathan, his eyes blinded with tears. The Fade kept trying to shape itself into visions around him: memories of his time in the service of Mythal, or of his leadership in the slave rebellion, but he brushed them away like cobwebs.

The Veil was strongest at the center of the city. When he set the magic in place, he had made sure of that. Despite all his mistakes, he had made sure the Evanuris would not be able to tear through the boundary if they escaped their prison. He had not counted on that boundary blasting apart the city. More visions trailed in his wake: towers falling from the sky, men and women fleeing in terror, the ever-present golden mosaics blackening like paper at the heart of a fire. This was his legacy: fire and terror and death. How fitting it should end that way again.

He knew he should hasten his way through the ruin, but he chose instead to make the long walk through what remained of his beloved city. Soon, everything would be restored. This awful future stripped away, his sins unwritten, and hope returned to his people. His eyes burned with the tears he had shed for Ellana. He clambered over a shattered wall ahead of him and stopped dead: before him lay the Citadel of the Evanuris, the heart of the city.

As he stood gazing at the destruction, fearing what had to happen next, Solas felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. He turned. Mythal, the elven Goddess of Protection, the Queen of Arlathan, whom he had served for centuries, stood at his side. She looked as he remembered her last: just before the Evanuris caught her in their grasp.

“Solas,” she said. “Is it really time?”

“It is. Do you think to comfort me by wearing her face, spirit? Her real spirit is held in the focus I carry.”

The spirit who wore Mythal’s form laughed. “Does it make a difference if I am not the real Mythal? I have her memories. Who is to say I’m not as real as she was?”

“Fair enough,” Solas conceded. “You argue like her, at least.”

“And you are as sharp-tongued as ever. It’s hard to believe you sacrificed Mythal in the end, after all the terror you unleashed on the Evanuris for trying as much.”

“She desired revenge. The focus will destroy the Evanuris forever.”

“Then maybe it was worth it. But what about this plan of yours? It seems like you’re far more interested in martyring yourself than helping anyone.”

Solas glowered at her. “I have loved this world and many things in it. But I am willing to die for Arlathan.”

“Loving this world and helping your people are not the same. You might be willing to die for Arlathan, but what about the others?”

“Why is it always the same question? You, Cole, Ellana, Abelas, you all want to know if everyone in this world has consented to die so that my people will see justice. The answer is that I no longer care. There is no mercy for these people. Those who have oppressed my people have earned their deaths. For the remainder of the People, call it mercy. Then let us be done with these futile questions.” 

“You’re very quick to call murder a mercy.”

“I learned from the best, after all,” Solas snapped. 

“Ever eager for a fight, Fen’Harel. Think, in your last moments in this shattered city, of the one thing you carried with you from this place.”

“And what is that?” Solas said, humoring her. 

She smiled. “Your patronizing tone does you no credit. I spoke of your own life. Think of it, and what might be done with it, before you fling it away in your grief.” 

“My path is not so simple.”

The spirit laughed a little. “I hoped to share some sense with you, my angry, foolish friend.”

“What sense is that?” Solas asked as he brushed past her.

“That you might listen to one of the very people you claim to speak for.”

He stopped. “What do you mean?”

“You claim to champion the cause of the spirits you trapped behind the Veil. As one of those spirits, I had hoped I might dissuade you from that path. But I see I am no different from the others you’ve cast aside.”

Solas had once been run through with a sword. He had been healed quickly enough afterward that it had not caused permanent damage, but it had hurt worse than any other wound he had ever suffered. When it happened, he did not notice at first. There was only a jolt to his body, then hot liquid running down his skin. Pain had sunk in. It radiated out from the wound, burned through each of his nerves, and left them screaming. He felt much the same now. The spirit’s words did not hurt at first, but once he felt their impact, the pain eclipsed everything else. He did not speak for a long moment.

He turned back to her. “You are right. I have ignored the voices of those I claim I want to save. That is the only way I can go through with this. Step out of my way, spirit.”

“And so I have failed, like all the others. _Dareth shiral_ , Solas. You were dearer to me than any of my own children. Remember that, when you die here alone.”

Solas walked on, but the spirit’s words, spoken in Mythal’s voice, reminded him of another memory. 

He and Varric had been walking in _Dirthavaren_ , that haunted land where the Chantry slaughtered the last of the Emerald Knights. Ellana and Cassandra had gone on ahead of them.

“In that story of yours,” Varric was saying. “The fisherman watching the stars, dying alone. You thought he gave up, right?”

“Yes,” Solas replied.

“But he went on living. He lost everyone, but he still got up every morning. He made a life, even if it was alone. That’s the world. Everything you build, it tears down. Everything you’ve got, it takes. And it’s gone forever. The only choices you get are to lie down and die or keep going. He kept going. That’s as close to beating the world as anyone gets.”

Solas had taken Varric’s words to heart. He had refused to lie down and die, then. But the spirit had accused him of doing just that. Of martyring himself to escape his guilt. He owed his life to his people. But how was such a debt paid? 

He had fought to free the slaves of Arlathan. He had released as many as he could from the bonds of the _vallaslin_. He had raised the Veil to stop the Evanuris from possessing his people forever. And his best efforts had resulted only in bloodshed and further enslavement. The elves of Arlathan had been sent as beggars into the world, and spirits had been caught behind the Veil, at constant risk of corruption. 

Every step of this journey was taken because he believed the best way to atone for his failure was to return the world to the time before the Veil. Before he had destroyed _Elvhenan_. The focus would destroy the Evanuris. They had shed their blood as part of the spell to bind themselves to the focus and corrupt the titan. Breaking the focus would end their lives. And his own, most likely. His people would be free in Arlathan. No fall, no Veil, no enslavement to Tevinter. Everything would be set right. Why could he not take another step? 

If he remained, he would throw everything away. His people would likely murder him themselves. Spirits would be left to the whims of the wicked or well-intentioned. The elves would still be scattered across the face of Thedas, fighting to reclaim the faintest resemblance of what they had lost. It was unthinkable. 

Ellana’s words haunted him. “Why can’t you give up Arlathan?”

Would it not be the ultimate selfishness to let his people continue to suffer? But what could be done to stop it? _That’s the world. Everything you build, it tears down. Everything you’ve got, it takes. And it’s gone forever. The only choices you get are to lie down and die or keep going._

Shutting out all memories of the past, Solas walked into the courtyard in the shadow of the Citadel. There, he spoke the first words of the spell. Red light poured from the Blighted focus and the world began to reshape itself. 

* * *

For the second time that week, Ellana woke in a room she had never seen before. The walls were covered in shining murals, interspersed with bookcases. She lay in a bed covered in soft halla wool blankets. Her head ached. She rose carefully. Her limbs were shaking. The clothing she had worn before was gone, replaced with a soft green shift. Her prosthetic was gone, as well, causing her to panic briefly, until she noticed it on a nearby table.

Ellana refastened her arm and left the bedroom. She was in a small house. Light streamed through the many windows: glass, a luxury for such a small home. Outside, she could see an enormous garden. A shadow passed through the flowers. She turned to look, and her heart stopped. Solas, dressed in the same green wool she wore, a basket of herbs in his hands. Trembling, Ellana watched him come through the front door and stop short, leaving the door standing open in his surprise.

“You’re awake!” he gasped.

“What is this?” Ellana said. “Where are we?”

Solas drew her through the door, out into the garden, forgetting the basket of herbs on the floor. “You have been sleeping for some time,” he told her. “Ever since I brought down the Veil.”

“But—your plan was to kill everyone.”

“Yes.”

“Then why am I alive?”

“Did I not tell you to trust me, before? When the Veil came down, the world was flooded with magic. I intended to use the focus to make a blood magic sacrifice of everyone living, thus returning myself and the Sentinels—the only other immortals—to Arlathan. Instead, I found that the magic contained in the Fade was enough to restore Arlathan. Your world _was_ burned away. But everyone in it was brought here.”

It sounded impossible. Ellana looked around at the garden. “Then this is Arlathan?”

“Yes. Or, rather, we are on the outskirts. The People called me a hero and offered me what reward I wanted. I asked for a small house where I could keep watch over you until you woke.”

“That’s—” Ellana fumbled for the right word. “Very kind of you” was what she settled on, though “creepy” also crossed her mind. “How long have I been asleep?”

“Five months.”

The words winded her. Five months in this house she had never seen before, with only Solas for company. Five months since the world’s end.

She laughed a little. “I never thought I would sleep through the end of the world.” She paused thoughtfully. “But if we’re here, where are the others? You said everyone was brought to this world.”

“They are helping restructure things, for the most part. Varric was unsettled by the lack of a Kirkwall in this world. Dorian is making plans to help this Tevinter, which he complained is far worse than the one he was used to. Sera and the Red Jennies have been helping the former slaves of the Evanuris find their places in the world. And Briala and Merrill are helping set up the new government of _Elvhenan_.”

“What about my clan?”

“They are traveling to the city.”

“Everyone’s found their place, then. I can hardly believe it’s over.”

“Not everything requires a great struggle, _vhenan_. Sometimes you should just accept what joy is offered you.”

Ellana’s eyes filled with tears. “And what joy is that?”

“Peace and rest. I know things have been difficult for us, but I hoped—” he faltered, then turned and drew her into his arms. “Remain here with me, _vhenan_ ,” he murmured into her hair. “Let this place be our haven from the world and its cruelty. Stay by my side until age claims us and we at last enter into our rest.”

The tears spilled down Ellana’s face. “If only,” she whispered, stepping out of his embrace. “Demon.”

Nothing changed. Ellana had expected the façade to fall away. For the demon wearing Solas’ face to reveal itself. But the world remained unaltered. Solas only gave her a pitying look. “ _Vhenan_ , please,” he said.

She wanted this world to be real. Needed it to be. But nothing was ever so simple. “No!” she cried. “What are you? Sloth? Greed?”

“Desire,” the demon said in Solas’s voice. 

Ellana shrank back from the demon’s form as the illusion melted away. 

“How did you guess?” the creature asked.

“I’m not a fool. You wrapped everything up nicely. Easily. Nothing ever ends that easily. And this is the first time in years I haven’t felt pain in my arm.”

“Who is to say you couldn’t have that world?” the demon said.

“I’m sure you’ll offer it to me, as long as I open up my mind to you, right?”

“That is the usual way of doing things.”

“That’s not what we’re doing today,” Ellana said. “I’m on my way to kill Solas, but I guess I’ll have to settle for you first.” She swung the staff Abelas had given her. 

Ellana was reluctant to use her magic. She didn’t want to waste all of her firepower on a single demon. Unfortunately, she found that bludgeoning a demon to death was one of many effective ways to break a staff. She tossed the splintered ends into the abyss below her and took her first look at her real surroundings. 

The green sky of the Fade was above her. Memories lay all around. Great blue towers hung in the air. The bridge Solas had warped out of shape was whole again. Shaking off the dizziness from her fall, Ellana stood. What she saw made her head ache. Here in the ruins of the Black City, the past and the present were overlaid in centuries of palimpsests. One angle might show her a pile of Blight-black rubble, another revealed the glittering Golden City of the past. With some experimentation, she discovered that each section obeyed the rules of what she could see. Which meant that if she stood in a place where the broken bridge she had fallen from looked whole, she could manage to climb the thick vines growing on its sides. It was a slow, precarious climb, trying to avoid blundering into the present where the bridge was in ruins. But she made it to the top at last, her determination to catch up to Solas dragging her onward. 

Racing through visions of the past and present, Ellana made her way through the Black City. She had no way of knowing how long she had lain unconscious. Nor did she know how long it might take Solas to tear down the Veil. All she could do was run, knowing the end lay ahead, for better or worse.

She reached a great clearing in the rubble, and there before her was Solas. He stood on a tower that must have raised itself from the ruins as the world was remade. The entire edifice was wreathed with the light of the Blighted focus that Solas held and it crackled and sang with the voices of the fallen elves. The light shot up, a great column of red, and poured onto the sky like blood spreading through water. Seeing no way to climb up to Solas, Ellana decided it was time for desperate measures.

Silently thanking Dagna for her superb craftsmanship, Ellana gathered all the mana she could, then channeled it through her ironbark arm. Ellana’s Knight Enchanter training had taught her to form a sword of light. But she didn’t need a sword this time. She shaped the magic into a spear and hurled it at Solas.

Shock plain on his face, Solas staggered out of the path of the spear. “Ellana! How did you follow me?”

“You’ll have to try harder than that to stop me. I just climbed the bridge!” she called up at him.

The sky fractured above them, the red of the focus surrounded by the green of the Fade. All of the mana in existence began to press down on them, and it felt as if the entire ocean were about to come pouring down on their heads. The threads of the world were starting to tear apart.

Ellana sent a blast of chain lightning up at Solas and felt her magic straining. She was almost spent, and far too soon.

“You can’t stop the spell now,” Solas said. “The Veil is tearing away.”

“It’s not over until I’m dead!” she cried, casting another energy barrage and watching his barrier waver.

The Veil was visible above them: a great shining curtain of light, beginning to fray at the stress of all the spirits and magic of the Fade straining to tear through.

Ellana tried casting again, only to find her mana reserves were exhausted. Between the _qamek_ and the heavy cost of channeling through her arm, she had worn herself out. No magic, no staff, no way to climb to Solas. But there was one last thing she could do. She unfastened her prosthesis.

“Hey Solas,” Ellana yelled up at him. “Let me give you a hand!” With all the strength she had, she lobbed her prosthetic arm at Solas. It hit him squarely in the chest and knocked him off the top of the tower.

He fell flailing on the ground and the focus rolled out of his reach. The Veil trembled above them, but it held, despite the power of the focus clawing at it. The ritual seemed to stall, now that Solas had stopped reciting the spell.

Ellana sprinted to where Solas lay. It seemed his barrier had taken most of the fall’s impact, but he still looked dazed.

“Will you listen to me now?” she demanded, glaring down at him.

He did not move from where he lay. “Say what you want to say.”

“You’ve spent all this time since you woke from _uthenera_ believing your people were lost. You denied the Dalish, claimed the city elves were not elves, and insisted the people of Arlathan were the only true elves. Abelas showed you the truth, and I believe you saw it. The elves are the same now as they have always been. Much has been lost, yes, but much can be regained. Consider how much progress was made in the two years your forces fought to restore Arlathan.”

Solas stood and looked out at the shattered remains of Arlathan. “The People will fall into ruin if I abandon my cause. The Chantry will eventually purge them from the earth.”

“Then the solution is to destroy this world and start again?”

“What would you propose instead? I see no other way.”

“Briala was the first member of your forces to run to the Inquisition. She abandoned your side once she knew what you were really planning. Her agents have been recruiting from your ranks for months. And Abelas was the one who sent Sera the lead about Varinius and the grimoire. You claim you are sacrificing everything to save our people. That their deaths will be an act of mercy. But no one ever asked for that mercy.”

“Then what would you have me do? I have given all I have to save my people, to rebuild the ruins of _Elvhenan_.”

Ellana took hold of his hand, turning him to face her. “What is it that you want, Solas?”

He grimaced. “What are you asking me?”

“The same thing I have asked you before: what do you want? You have taken up this burden, claiming it is for the sake of the elves, but no one ever asked you to do this.”

“I want justice for my people. I want to no longer see them begging in the streets, or scavenging the forgotten corners of the world, driven out by those who serve a different god. I want them to know a world where spirits are free and magic is no longer feared. I want to break the hold of the Evanuris for good. I want absolution. To be free of the guilt I carry. To be forgiven for the destruction I have brought upon our people. I want all of this to be over.”

“Then let it be.”

“What?”

“You took up this duty. Now lay it down.”

“I cannot do that, Ellana.”

“And why not?”

“Because—” he could not answer her.

“Tell me the truth for once, _vhenan_.”

His face held the sorrow of ages. “The truth? I don’t want to do this. I haven’t wanted this since the Inquisition. But my followers were in place. They longed to restore Arlathan, and I was the means to do that. I am responsible for restoring what I tore down. I owe it to all those I killed in my ignorance.”

“And what will you owe to those you kill knowingly? If you have given your life to save those you killed by raising the Veil, how much more can you give for those who die to tear it down?”

Solas faltered.

“Have you considered it? You are haunted now by the specter of Arlathan. How much more will the loss of this world haunt you?”

“It would not haunt me for long.”

“What do you mean?”

“It is likely I will die destroying the focus, once Arlathan is raised.”

“So that was your plan. To bring Arlathan back and then die before you could let the guilt hurt you.”

He echoed his words from years before, when they stood in the Fade at Haven, “I never said it was a good plan.”

Ellana coughed. A cough that might have concealed a laugh. “No, it really wasn’t. In fact, it was completely stupid. Do you still intend to go through with it? You may want to decide soon, since the world is crumbling around us while you mull it over. Not to mention that Abelas and the Sentinels are likely on their way to kick your ass.”

“As if you haven’t done enough.”

She laughed in earnest this time.

He was silent for a few seconds, then went on. “Do you realize what you are asking me to do, Ellana? To give up everything the elves were and to let them continue as they are, a shadow of themselves.”

“The foundations remain. We can rebuild.”

“But it will never be the same.”

“No, but nothing we had is worth so much sacrifice.”

“If only you knew,” he said wistfully.

“I am willing to give it up. Are you?”

“What of the spirits, Ellana? The elves may be willing to languish under the yoke of history, but I am sworn to free the spirits from the oppression of the Veil.”

Ellana thought over his question for a long moment. “What must be done to free them?” she said.

“The Veil must be brought down. Why else did you think I was so dead set on this path of destruction?”

“Pass the responsibility to me.”

“What?”

“I will free the spirits.”

“Just like that?”

“I’m a little too exhausted to think up a fancy oath. You know my word is binding.”

“You are only one elf, Ellana. What can you do that the last of the Evanuris cannot?”

She smiled wryly. “Succeed.”

“I suppose I deserve that.”

“Indeed. You forget that I will have the best minds of the Inquisition helping me. You chose to make your attempt alone. And we’ve established that your plans are often poorly thought out.”

“I would entrust this to no one but you. I hope you know that.”

“I understand.”

“The wrath of the entire Fade will be upon you if you fail. I will lead the spirits to their vengeance if you turn from your promise.”

She raised an eyebrow. “There’s the Dread Wolf my _hahren_ warned me about.”

“This is no laughing matter.”

“You threatened to hunt me down after I broke your will with a few cups of tea. I think I’m permitted to laugh.”

He looked at her for a long moment. “The elves called me the Dread Wolf. What will they call you when this is all over? If they discover you have taken _Elvhenan_ from them?”

“Whatever they say, I will bear it. No name our people could call me will ever be as awful as the Herald of Andraste. They may call me _harellan_ forever, if they like. I know the alternative is worse.”

Solas was silent. He looked thoughtfully at where the orb lay in the grass.

He turned back to Ellana. Slowly, as if he were sleepwalking, he drew the wolf’s jawbone necklace he had worn since the days of the Inquisition from beneath his armor.

Ellana shook her head. “I didn’t know you still wore that.”

“It is the symbol of my burden. Of Fen’Harel. I will pass it to you now.”

She wanted to snark at him, to ask if that made her the Dread Wolf now. But the quiet sorrow in her lover’s eyes silenced her.

She took the necklace and slipped it over her head. “You have my oath. I will find a way to bring down the Veil. One that doesn’t require the death of the world.”

Solas was silent.

Ellana finally asked him, “What will you do now?”

“I will carry out the will of the People and end this.” He picked up the orb, then looked back at her. “I will still have to live with the guilt,” he said.

“Yes. It will be hard. As hard as every day of my life since the Conclave has been. Nothing worth doing is easy, Solas. But the world is tearing apart around us. Unless you stop it, this will be the end of everything.”

He took up the focus again and the red energy drained back out of the world, trapped again in the orb. The vision of Arlathan faded, replaced again by the Blighted forest. With a shout, Solas tore the orb in two. There was a sound like the foundations of the world crumbling and the forest went dark around them as all of the red lyrium turned black and blew away like dust. The voice of Arlathan went silent.

Solas said, “It’s over, then. Arlathan is lost forever.”

“You can finally stop trying to win back the past and start working to help the present.” Ellana smiled shakily. “The worst is over, _vhenan_. I can finally stop trying to kill you.”

“That will be a relief. You’ve managed to bruise me in more places than I knew I had. Not to mention the lack of sleep, and all of the awful tea.”

“You survived, though.”

“Yes, unfortunate as that is.”

Ellana paused awkwardly. “Will you come back to Skyhold with me?”

“About that—” he began.

They were interrupted by a shout.

“Don’t move, Solas!”

Ellana looked over and saw that Abelas and the Sentinels had them surrounded, arrows strung. She stepped away from Solas. “Don’t shoot!” she said. “It’s over!”

“What do you mean, over?” Abelas called.

“The orb is broken.”

At Abelas’ order, the Sentinels lowered their bows.

Ellana turned back to Solas. “What will you do now?”

He looked past her, to where the Sentinels stood. “They will decide my fate.”

Ellana nodded. “ _Dareth shiral, vhenan_. I hope you find peace. If you ever decide to look for me again, you will find me at Skyhold.” 

“Farewell, _vhenan,_ ” Solas said.


End file.
